


The Steel Wolf (Jon Snow Twin SI)

by SupaSoulja_X



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupaSoulja_X/pseuds/SupaSoulja_X
Summary: Hello Thank you for reading. I love to receive comments so please don't hesitate.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Thank you for reading. I love to receive comments so please don't hesitate.

The Wolf in the Sea pt. 1

  
**(SI) Rickard Stark POV**  
298 After Conquest  
The Narrow Sea  
30 nautical miles from Braavos

Now

  
The sounds of men engaged in mortal combat; both those screaming in the throws of bloodlust and the unfortunate ones wailing in the agony proceeding death, filled the air above deck. The 90 oared bireme Steel Jaw was in the last leg of its journey, carrying me, my escort, the prototype forge and other goodies to the palace of the Sea Lord. There all of them would be carefully assayed by the aforementioned ruler of the only truly free daughter of Valyria, keyholders of the Iron Bank and sundry officers of Braavos' various military and industrial departments.

Earlier

We noticed the pirate vessels sails yesterday around 3:00 pm, which was frankly surprising with the way the Braavosi navy made its opinion of piracy so near its waters clearly known. It had the largest and most professional navy of the Free Cities, a title that was only meaningfully challenged in a one on one comparison by Volantis. Yes, the free cities did engage in aggressive trade competition that sometimes gave way to limited commerce raiding; so three sleek, obviously not!pirate, vessels taking a look at us were not strictly speaking out of the ordinary.

What did shock us was their persistence in pursuit once they noticed the obvious Stark Banners on our main sail. While news travelled slowly around the world, most large polities on both sides of the Narrow Sea could recognize the sigils of the major Westerosi houses. Pirates and privateers of the infrequent "Sibling Rivalries" went out of their way to not attack targets such as ourselves. While the possible ransoms collected might be large the subsequent purges, bounties and assassins dispatched after those disrupting serious commerce were no worth it. There was an old saying in Lys, 'you can't enjoy the finer things from the other side and it was a truism.

Ser Wendel Manderly, the man I was ostensibly squiring for, explained the situation to me on more than one occasion rather succinctly. Now that I thought about it, he was likely trying to calm his own nerves.

"Yeah merchant ships get raided and perhaps some minor villages on the Essosi coast might feel the sting of a corsair or slaver. But the magisters backing their freedom of action know that killing or kidnapping a noble is bad for business. These ones look professional, meaning they know the deal. Get yerself and the other pup down bellow and take a 3 hour nap, it's nothing to worry about!" The fact that he didn't remove his armor and kept his wierwood bow in hand didn't exactly lead credence to idea he believed his own words.

We knew this was a unusual situation when the two fairly large ships were joined by a third vessel a few hours later. While they were each smaller than us in terms of both size and crew size they most certainly were faster. The fact that more of them had appeared led credence to this being a deliberate ambush. Which would imply we were actually being targeted, as anyone who had bothered to set this up already knew what and who was aboard. It was obvious that someone didn't want the status qou to change.

My first suspect could have been a jealous Westerosi lord, but since I deliberately sold my arms and armor at a cost that wouldn't break other armorers and went out of my way to increase the economies of whatever city my conglomerate traded with it seemed highly unlikely. Provided that my businesses didn't decrease their tax revenue I would remain "Lord Stark's" useful peculiarity. That and most Lords of Westeros scoffed at being involved in trade or counting coppers. They wouldn't notice a bastard or dirty their pretty heads with thoughts of removing me with something as elaborate as a fake pirate raid. Especially as they liked receiving my intricate and well made swords and armor. A typical lord or knight might challenge me to a duel if I insulted them, well the ones who hadn't seen me fight anyway, but no one I knew would stoop to this.

As for personal enemies who might attack in such a 'cowardly way' only one person would care enough about me to want me and my brother dead as individuals. And while a significantly greater portion of my stepmother's personality than she cared to admit would jump for joy if my ship vanished with all hands she wasn't a murderer.

No, this was obvious. Some magister, likely a group of them actually pulled their heads out of their asses long enough to realized the true threat I represented. I didn't have to mouth off about their 'peculiar institution', cheaper steel and improved capital markets spelled the end of slavery. Perhaps it wouldn't be as flashy as sending my hordes of liberated slaves to paint the ancient bricks of that hell on earth in Slaver's Bay red, but it would certainly get the job done none the less. I was just glad they weren't willing to hire faceless or sorrowful men, at least not yet. Heading off that possibility was something to think about later though.

As we were heavier than our pursuers and carrying a significant load of supplies, trade goods and equipment out running them wasn't going to happen. This trip had been planned with the understanding and expectation that Braavos could and would ensure no active 'privateer' presence. Still this well coordinated and strong attack force confused me. White harbor didn't grant Braavos enough of an advantage to seriously affect the balance of trade with the other cities and we hadn't yet backed any anti slavery initiatives. There were no threats, veiled or otherwise levelled by us or against us vis a vis the other daughters to my knowledge. As such with the relatively modest amount of armed crew we erroneously felt there was no serious danger. Most sane pirates would take a good look at a crew known to have at least 70 well trained and armed men then consider finding an easier target. The Steel Jaw could boast more than that, a good deal more than that.

While I was a nobleman's bastard and Wendel a second son there was no way in the seven hells we would embark on so profitable a journey without adequate protection. I had encouraged and paid for modified armor that would look like Samurai gear to anyone who didn't know any better. Now this armor was not the same scale bound together with silk or leather used by both the bushi and contemporary Mongols or Han armies. It was made of solid plate and scales connected by steel wire. I had done this for every sailing man and woman aboard. Hell, I had forged or supervised the creation of every piece of war gear myself. No one was driving a spear or sword point through it easily.

Weapon equipment included crossbows and roman style Pila. Not to mention the modified Polybolos - Wikipedia devices I had placed in a variety of strategic locations. That last surprise was something we ordered the crew and others not to talk about. While on paper the Jaw was a trader, the entire crew was drilled in combat, more than half could use crossbows or bows, and the vessel employed steel in its interior construction. In a nutshell there was no reason to panic at the sight of a few dumb pirates attempting to scare us.

Ser Wendel's curses intensified and his jowels twisted in combination of rage and dismay when I saw him again 3 hours and 5 minutes later. One of the prototypes we were showing off, a primitive spring clock helped me to pull off that bit of snark on the easily flabbergasted, yet honorable knight. I had come up on deck dressed in the same modified samurai armor all of our sailors wore. It was comprised of a mix of solid plates, scale and mail. It didn't protect as well as a 'knight's' panoply. However, the plate was made of good steel and would stop a crossbow bolt, while allowing its user to be considerably mobile. Furthermore, if someone went overboard he or she could swim in it and every member of the crew could do just that. Wendel smiled at me, nodded and brought his 'Myrish' eye back to his chest after our 'friends' got closer.

I had done the same with my own, even though I had reached the same conclusion before I bothered to look. Each of the pirate vessels had a healthy number of men armed with nasty looking high end crossbows. Further, the sails on the larger pirate vessels, showing a dagger between a skull on a blue field logo, were easily identifiable as belonging to the Randy Jacks. They were a notorious, if professional band of naval cut throats. I shook my head and in my 'youthful' arrogance spoke to my knight.

"So Myr, doesn't want to deal with the competition. The question becomes is this just a friendly warning or will I get a chance to earn my spurs, eh Ser?" Wendel turned towards me with a mix of astonishment, frustration and anger. Though most of the rage was for our enemies.

"I know you think you are hot shyte with the blade boy, but this isn't game or some foolish bards song! I taught you better than that." His rebuke stole some of my youthful excitement. A part of me was offended, thinking he didn't appreciate the fore planning I put into our defensive and offensive capability. Of course that part of me was the stupid teenage glory seeking part that came with my second life. The rest of me, the experienced and mature reincarnated 39 year old knew he was concerned about my protection and there were a good amount of pirates facing us.

The not yet half grown, near 4 foot tall ball of fur and muscle was encased in his own set of armor. This including a ferocious faceplate and steel fangs. Fangs my packmate used to nudge my left leg hard enough for me to stumble in further rebuke. I looked down at the traitor and gave him my best screw face. Of course Wraith couldn't see that with my face covered with said plate imitating the obvious dire wolf motif. And Of course the overgrown flea bag could easily read my intentions via our warg bond. However, it worked both ways so I also felt the equivalent of his eyes rolling in response. Returning my attention to my knight I spoke again, this time with more logical words and a more humble tone.

"My apologies Ser. I know this isn't anything to joke about. They want us to run towards Pentos, where I'll bet there are more of their friends waiting. Why not give them a taste of the Long Paws? They don't have any artillery I can see and even if they did I'm sure they won't be quick to use them if they want prisoners. Hell, I doubt they will keep chasing us". It was a risk, because while most professional pirates would run off when they took unreasonable casualties before getting into boarding range, others only got angry enough to be brutal to survivors. It was something every captain in our position had to think about before responding with aggression.

"Did you ever think that maybe they have more friends in between Bravos and us?" Ser Wendel stopped when he saw my half smile. It vanished before he could respond to my know it all attitude with a light clout to my head, but my point was made. Wraith actually nipped me on the leg, even though I couldn't feel it through the guard, in order to reinforce his point. Not for the first time did I realized my fucking wolf was too damn smart. Operating this close to Bravos was already ballsey to the extreme and it was unlikely the Randy Jacks were getting paid that much. Not to mention that if the Bravosi had sold us out, and with the amount they stood to earn it was even more unlikely, we were already dead.

Wendel sighed "Allan, change heading right for the lead ship to Port, 11 knots. Yody prep the Strong Claws and arm the Long Paws. Get the Bowmen up here now. If these bastards want a taste of northern steel that's what they'll get". I was a fairly decent shot with a bow or crossbow, and this was a change to earn my spurs. That would give me the right to control my own finances outright. Knights were grown men who could lead their own households, keeps and accounts after all. Wendel must have read my intentions or sensed my smile under the helmet's faceplate. The clout rang off the back my helmet before I could prepare for it. It wasn't hard, but it conveyed his annoyance and affection at the same time. I looked down to see Wraith look up at me with his red eyes and I could swear there was laughter in them.

"Not you, ye daft bastard! It might go to your already swelled head, but the point of these shytes attacking us is to stop us from bringing our goods to market. Most of that's inside the empty helmet on your head. For some reason the First Lord and a bunch of Essosi fools think its worth something!" There were a sporadic wave of laughter on the deck. When it went on another 3 seconds Wraith let out a hollow growl. I really wasn't offended by Wendel's use of bastard, he didn't mean anything by it and I liked him. However, there was a limit to how much teasing I would tolerate from men I was paying, even if it was still 'formally' indirectly until my 'maturity'.

"The wolf's right, nothing funny bout those fancy dressing fucks. We need to be about our business. Rick, I know you're not a coward, but when the crossbows come into it you will be the first one they hit." He looked at my eyes with all seriousness. "You and the overgrown hound are to stay under deck unless there is no other choice. I mean it! You have a long, long life to go off and have adventures or make your own business deals. I'm not explaining to your father or Jon why you didn't come home. Give me your word you won't go off glory hunting today or I'll have you and your wolf tied up below deck with the salt pork". I looked him in the eye and knew he was deadly serious. Which is why I spoke with all the conviction my soul could muster at the time.

"Ser I will not go glory hunting and will only fight if the ship or my life is in danger. I swear on my mother's grave and the old gods!" That was enough to satisfy him and I moved swiftly back to my cabin. Wraith followed behind me. With any luck the not!pirates would see our artillery and believe the hype enough to leave. The vast majority of them were not wearing armor of any kind, as it tended to be a death sentence once you fell in the drink. Against a repeating crossbow that would punch through most shields it was recipe for lots of casualties.


	2. Wendel I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment.

The Mad Merman pt 1

  
 **Wendel Manderly**  
30 nautical miles outside Bravos

Wendel watched the dejected squire and his direwolf skulk away below decks to their shared cabin. The large knight just knew the boy was rolling his eyes. For the briefest of moments the second son of White Harbor was tempted to give the arrogant pup another clout, and a less playful one at that. Rick could be rather annoying with his stealth wit at times, something appreciated in a peer, not one's frequently insufferable squire. The would be 'young wofl' had just subtly reminded Wendel of just how dangerous the Jaw was in an attempt to calm his knights nerves. It was also a suggestion on how to deal with said rapidly approaching shyte sell sails in the most expedient manner.

No doubt it was also a reminder that Rick thought himself capable of handling the situation and more importantly commanding the Dyre Steel Conglomerate directly and without Wendel's supervision. Why did the young always rush to grow up and out of their parents control? It was a blindness to the dangers of the world, which each and every young person he ever met displayed. At least the boy didn't reach for his helmet strap until he was through the door. The 'Mad Merman' smiled remembering how few thrown objects it had taken to drill not taking foolish chances with ones life into Rickard's often thick skull. "At least he learns and admits his errors," Wyman whispered under his breath. More importantly they young man sough to learn from them, so that those under his command didn't suffer.

Oh the boy thought he was clever, and to be fair he was touched by genius. However, even Bran the builder needed the guidance of his parents until he was passed 10 and 6 name days. Yes, Rickard Snow was a damn fine fighter, could think clearly and had good character. Sure he understood business and how not to offend peasant, merchant or highborn even when he frequently disagreed with them. But Rick still lacked patience. He simply didn't fully comprehend what his inventions were doing to the world around him.

The Steel Wolf understood that he was 'improving' the productivity of the smallfolk and the amount of money merchants could be taxed, thus increasing the wealth of the nobility. As a bastard even half a great bastard, no one really cared if he bothered with copper counting or play acting a maester. Well provided they got 'their just share of the pie'. Of course the back of his mind chided Wendel for being one one to talk about greed. His family had milked the youth's ideas to their great benefit. When they accepted one of Stark's bastard boys to foster Wendel thought it was part of his father, Lord Wyman's attempts to ingratiate himself towards gaining a proper Stark marriage. They hadn't believed the stories about his skills and couldn't or wouldn't see the forest for the trees. Well at least Wendel admitted his faulty logic in assuming the youth would be a pampered spoiled burden when he was politely but firmly told to accept the 'honor of training the boy'. His ever decreasing jowls and belly shook with mirth at the joke despite the current circumstances.

What his squire didn't comprehend fully was that the changes he made, while profiting his father's bannermen were something other people would object to strenuously. Yes, he had arranged his pricing as to not cause undue stress outside the north, but as DSC was in control of an increasing 'percentage' of trade and gained 'lateral and vertical integration' such would change. Even the thickest of the nobles could see that would shift control of 'financial markets'. The boy quickly grasped the significance of 'knock back' effects and was shoring up his connections with major houses via fancy gifts, paying dowries for minor nobles in key positions and offering to armor and equip major houses with northern steel at a discount. 'Keep the people who matter happy and you won't have many problems', was something his father had taught Wendel as well. As the new words and meanings rolled off his tongue Wendel realized just how much impact the 'not Stark' had effected on the way he and his rather unusually mercantile kin thought about trade and money. They had a fucking bank now called the Wolf's Bin. Not to mention the damn boy had mentioned words like 'bonds and securities' in hushed tones with his father before the ship left the White Knife. Wendel did not like the predatory smile on his father's face, not one bit.

Sometimes Wendel felt the boy and his father were too crafty for their own good. The two of them didn't appreciate the fact the other Daughters were capable and more than willing to send a message like the one in front of him. A son of major house vanished after getting involved in trade would probably be acceptable to a good number of lords. After all what good could come from associating with bastards and coin counters. The hypocrisy that his squire spoke of began to make his jowls darken with rage. His father was a very clever man and had taught him about long term plots and cover stories long before his squire mentioned the words 'plausible deniability'. Why was it he didn't take the risk more seriously. Then the knight smiled as his fathers 'eight and a quarter percent' speech resounded in his head.

As Wendel arranged three quivers of arrows in front of him, carefully strung his bow and completed a final check of his armor he contemplated the overall reason he was here. His father ultimately wanted to send a message. The Manderlies were always an odd duck. They were 7 worshippers in a land of the old gods. They were also a lot more mercantile than most noble families. A few of their cadet branches were in fact merchants and highly skilled laborers. It was for that reason, and yes their tendency for opulence and corpulence, that many snickered behind their backs. Though to be fair it was their ability to understand trade and acceptability to southron and Essossi nobles that they were so rich as to keep such talk behind their backs. Wendel personally would prefer to beat their 'more noble than thou' attitudes into the dust in the training yard though. "I guess that might be why I became a knight and trained hard enough to avoid the corpulence so prevalent in many of my kin," was what the man told himself in a hushed tone. Wendel shook his head as the pieces fit together and he realized that he and the boy were just being given exactly what they each wanted most with the best tools they could assemble. Again he could see the hand of his father and why he was chosen for this mission rather than his brother.

There was also the matter of just who was teaching who. Ricky had come as a page, but he rarely did any pouring wine or errand shuffling for him, his brother Wylas or their father. Yes, Rickard trained the sword, lance and bow with himself and the other squires. However, his father had let the bastard spend most of his time in the forge or with his group of tutors. That only made the little know it all all the more insufferable by 'improving his efficiency and synergy'. Before long the boy had everyone getting more things done in the same amount of time, wasting less resources and all but stopped theft. Then he got around to 'fixing' and 'solving' problems people brought to him involving their personal problems. Worse, the bastard had actually suggested a 'better diet' for the household. The lil fucker had made it part of a challenge and as the too drunk knight he was Wendel had agreed. And the wolf shit had used his later anger to decrease Wendel's drinking habit as well!

The fact Rickard's 'suggestions' had improved his life by 'quantifiable measures' did little to soften the blows. Yes Wendel had lost a good deal of fat and could finally see his manhood again, but squires were not supposed to shame their knights into doing things using their own sense of honor against them. If he were being honest though he would have to admit his father very likely played a large role in that debacle. Well, he had gotten the wee bastard back. Since his father only allowed him to give the boy martial tasks he made the Steel Wolf practice the long bow daily, on moving targets for hours. If he had to suffer through this apprenticeship then so should the damn wolf boy. Well he needed to learn the longbow, it was a proper knightly weapon after all. Rickard would thank him one day just as he had promised Wendel he would thank him for the lost weight.

Rickard Snow would make a good knight, battlefield commander and yes merchant one day. But he was still wet behind the ears in some places and Wendel would make sure that didn't get him killed. At least not today.

When the first galley came into view of his Myrish eye Wendel could see the smile on the sell sail captain's face. He saw his gaudily gloved hand make a signal and sails ran up the mast. Said code was the 'universal' sign of serious pirates and privateers to surrender or accept no quarter. Wendel hrrupphed, which was echoed across the deck along side a few spit takes. That shyte was not happening, not with what this girl had to offer.

Sir Wendel Manderly gave the order to raise the battle flags and unveil the first surprises. Despite his earlier admonishment of his charge the lust for battle filled his heart.

The crew heard his confidence, could see his conviction, but the knight would never let them know his thoughts lest the pup wag a finger at him. For in his hearts of hearts all the son of White Harbor could think was what his inclination and life of martial training prepared him to do.

As he took up his bow his very soul cried "Let these horribly dressed slaver fucks find out why I am called the Mad Merman!"


	3. Therry I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those who like a bit of iron men and ships of wood should like this. Enjoy the chapter. Don't forget to comment.

The would be Knight part 1

**Therry the Turnkey**  
Wolf's Jaw

A playful slap to his head followed by a crushing embrace were among the most recent memories Therry had of his mother. "I don't see why being a turnkey is such a bad thing. Yes they closed the Old Wolf's den but Manderly is building three of dem 'correctional facilities," were the greying, but still shapely woman's exact words. It was an old argument and they took their positions like two sparring partners in the yard going through the daily routine. Sally, called shapely Sally when townsmen were sure Therry would not hear, raised a clean cloth to wipe his cheek. He smirked, noting it was simply the opening thrust before she lunged with her main argument.

"Its a sure thing they still need turnkeys or whatever that fancy highborn renamed them to. Gotta have someone to make sure people don't escape the lord's justice. Going out with the Steel Wolf is dangerous and you don't have to do this on my account. I'm happy the way things are and when I get old I'll go live with your sister and her usband." It was decent argument, if the somewhat skinny lad was being honest. Sea life was dangerous and frankly short for far too many people. Even high born died from various diseases or the odd pirate's arrow. Though Therry had a good riposte and he grabbed his mother's hand gently before sandwiching it between both of his own.

"Mother I want to be my own man, and once the Steel Wolf is knighted he will open up a school to make loyal knights who go out to help people in need." He didn't mention that they would be getting paid for it and were somewhat of unofficial police mercenaries, but Therry was sure his mother could read between the lines. " I can learn to read and write and skills even if I don't make it. Ma trust me, this is my best shot." She cut him off before he could finish the speech he memorized with another hug and by grabbing his ear.

"Be a good boy you hear. Mind what your betters say. I didn't spend 5 hours in the birthing bed and a score o years washing highborn drawers to hear about you getting flogged ta death for lipping off on account you got too familiar. No matter how nice e is to us commons remember that wolf ain't one of us. Catch him In a bad mood with the wrong joke and 'ell have the skin off your hide like all the rest". Guilt filled him then, the unspoken allusion to his dead siblings and the fact only two of her six children were still alive was a low blow. And the reminder of how Tanner Tim the Thoughtless earned his nick name, alongside the cross hatching above his waist was a bit scary. Though Therry was determined not to let her fears, even well meaning pressure, rule his life.

He knew mother was exaggerating to make sure Therry remembered 'is place'. Some seats, like the Dreadfort had a very bad reputation concerning commons who 'forgot their place'. There were even rumors that people would vanish for no reason. The Manderlies and the Starks never did that kind of shyte, but her heart was in the right place. So he swore on the Seven and the old gods and made his mother feel comfortable about him going off to make his mark with DSC. The gods knew she earned such small comfort and much more; as he remembered him and his brother and 2 sisters not eating for days. Sometimes that didn't stop until mom came home late. On those days she would be tired and sometimes too distracted to speak to her children.

It wasn't until later he understood what the rumors were and what 'Shapely Sally' had to do to keep them from starving to death like their smallest brother Tom and them that never got to have names. That was part of the reason why Therry was joining up with DSC. They paid everyone who worked for them the same base 'living wage' for the same job. Yes, better workers earned more money but women could earn enough to take care of their children without having to sell their virtue. Working to build and expand such a business model was something that struck a chord with him.

He put those thoughts away while he helped assemble the "Long Paw" in front of him. As he was previously trusted as a prison turnkey and proved himself intelligent he got to fire the damn thing. It was a curious machine that was about 140 pounds all together and suspended on a tripod. Its workings looked complicated at first but once he had the gears and rods sorted it was pretty simple. He was surprised no one ever made something like it earlier.

In short it was a big steel crossbow that was powered by a crank two people behind him would turn. It was fed by a 5 shot hopper above and would fire the same kind of crossbow bolts everyone else did but a hell of a lot further. What made it extra special was the fact it had a 'iron sight' with a wind gauge on the front as well as the choice to use a Myrish Eye. There was an assistant to call the range too. This 'crew served weapon' could put out more pain per minute than anything Therry even saw and would outshoot almost anything except one of them big ballistae.

Wendel was cursing at the fuckers threating the crew and Therry's future. When the normally taciturn man started mumbling under his breath everyone knew not to fuck up. He was wont to slap the Stark's bastard son when in those moods. And a man willing to punish the all but lord in name paying his bills was never one to trifle with. Hell, he already almost knocked Rickard's block off a second ago!

The still helmless man turned to face the crew. While he was seemingly portly only idiots and new fish forgot most of his girth was solid muscle. And Ser Wendel's strength and speed were not the only things deceptive about him. None of the Manderlies were stupid and were in fact very knowledgeable in whatever field they took too. Therry had learned to see what was 'obvious and unspoken' in his time with the DSC. The large knight was using his anger to inspire the crew when he bellowed and his words were timed for effect. "Those slaving fucks want to keep on raping and terrorizing this part of world. They don't even have the balls to come out and fight for themselves like the Braavosi fleet. No, they paid for sell sails to send us running home with our tails between our legs. Tell me does the Merman's tail turn? Does the Direwolf forget its teeth?"

Though Therry knew this routine for what it was he heard himself yell "Fuck no!"

"Hang the bastards, the whole lot of them!" came from somewhere else. Sir Wendel nodded his head and his voice carried over his crew.

"Damn right. They think we're scared of them fucking tiny crossbows and the fancy cunts they bought in to use them." Ahem, Wendel coughed a few times, likely having caught the likely person's glare of killing intent. "No offense to ladies present. I say we show them what the Steel Wolf can make!"

"AYYE!" came the unanimous response.

That's when Therry knew he would have to earn his future with the blood of others today. It wasn't anything new for him. He had been a turnkey and he knew that he might have to torture or assist in the execution of some condemned fucker. It likely would have been someone easily deserving like some child diddler or a raper. But like as not it would have been some poor fucker whose only crime was being hungry and too poor to feed himself.

As he made sure the latch was in the closed position and the hopper aligned the former turnkey said a silent prayer to the Warrior for the courage not to falter. The Steel Wolf had personally come him with a job offer after he heard about Therry getting into a fight over what some guardsmen said about his mother. Most lords would have banished Therry from town for the repeat offense or had him flogged. Either could easily been a death threat. Instead the grey eyed fuck just sat down and talked to him like a man.

Rickard Snow a lad younger than him spoke to him man to man, not a lord or a false father figure trying to talk down to him. His mother denied it, but Therry knew she put a few men up to talking him and trying to convince him not to defend her reputation with his fists. The bastard, he didn't go that route. All he said was "Hard truths are still true no matter what we do those who speak of them. It is a fool or a madman who attempts to do the same thing over again expecting a different result." Then he spoke of a better world that men and women could build with keen minds and the sweat of their brows. And seven take Therry he believed the mad fucker. He didn't want to let the bastard lad down. He was wasn't fighting today, but everyone knew it was because Ser Wendel sent him away.

The Steel Wolf had courage. He killed a mess of men who threatened his kin before he was 12. Therry knew some people who saw the bodies, or rather what was left of them. One didn't threaten Starks in his presence. Well one didn't threaten Starks in the presence of any other Starks, but Rickard in particular liked 'providing sharp lessons' to quote lord Twyin. He was below because those bastards would have shot him to death with likely poisoned bolts. That's how much those fucking slavers wanted to keep doing their hellish work. Therry wasn't sure whether he liked the old or new gods better but both of them despised fucking slavers.

He suddenly felt better about what he knew was coming next. His team mates Squire Tallbright and Joss took their position behind him after checking to make sure the shield was in place. Then they began turning the lock that loaded the receiver.

Clank, Clank

Months of practicing the sword and spear.

Clank, Clank

Months of practicing how to use the gauges and windage meters.

Clank, Clank

Months of training first aid and working as a team.

Clunk

Wendel had taken his position at the helm, which was protetected like a large portion of the deck behind reinforced shields.

"Windage 3 knots southeast. Target 110 meters. Long Paws fire first. After first volley local control!"

"Long Paws target key personnel." He and the other 3 Long Paws crews on deck aimed for one of the ships attempting to corral them towards a larger one in to their flank. They would likely try for a ram and murder everyone in the water as they drowned. Even though such an attempt would likely fail, it would still kill some of his friends. Thus, the bastards would never live to make the attempt.

They just made it easier for him to place the 'cross hairs' on the chest of the flamboyantly dressed Tyroshi piloting the craft labeled "Saucy Wench" in Black letters.

"Ready!" came from Wendel's mouth.

He focused.

"Aim!"

The ship turned slightly toward the ship, his ship. Its ram was figure was ugly and uncouth. A woman with bare breasts and wanton with her arms outstretched rushed towards them.

"Fire!"

His fingers closed around the latch and pulled smoothly, just as he practiced despite the use of the frankly weird attack command. Then again when you got paid as well as DSC folks were one made allowances for strange. Besides his Stark, and he considered Rickard one despite the fact the crew called him Snow for 'propriety's sake' was a good kind of strange. Most of his weird ideas were very useful and 'suppression fire' and 'firing for effect' did make sense once one got used to the idea of using missile weapons as the killing tool instead of a preliminary to melee combat. Well, they trained well for that possibility as well, but Rickard said ideally it should never come to that. Everyone knew he meant to preserve their lives, and the thought of a 'noble' who cared more for his smallfolk levies than personal glory in combat was the type of weird the world could use more of!

Therry refocused on his job and lined up another shot. He looked to see where his first landed to account for 'deflection'. Three bolts impacted on members of the enemy crew. His bolt went right through the man with multicolor hair, almost 'center mass'. Each bolt and arrow shaft were distinctly colored to aid in 'fire control'. The concept of 'shot placement' and 'fire for effect' were truly scary. The unfortunate pirate pilot would have likely agreed, as he fell back and the metal quarrel embedded itself in the mast behind him.

The flamboyant captain was less lucky. He took a quarrel through the gut, which also entered another man behind him as it came out his back. He would not die anytime soon.

What Therry could only assume was the captain of the 12 crossbowmen stationed on the pirate ship got it worse. He was wearing what seemed to be chest plate with a skirt of coat of plates covering his groin. Said coat of plates was not made of high quality steel, as the third quarrel found its way into his family jewels while he was standing straight to give orders. That kind of wound couldn't be treated in combat and would just cause an agonizing death, while sapping the morale of those under his command. Seasoned mercs understood that in combat morale loss would doom everyone. Therry suspected that his compatriots would cut his throat in fairly short order.

Therry assumed that shot came from the starboard Long Paw 'manned' by Jess. She was called happy Jess because she was excited to be part of anything that fucked with slavers. Jess also scored the highest number of hits by any Long Paw operator.

He turned to the tall and muscular, yet attractive woman and received the 'thumbs up' signal the Steel Wolf had introduced them to. The black haired beauty regarded Therry a minute through her laughing blue eyes and smiled. Out of sheer practicality the ex turnkey returned the gesture and a chaste wink, as it was very unlikely she had missed that shot. Then again if someone had kidnapped Therry's sister during the Greyjoy Rebellion and sold them to slavers he'd probably shoot every slaver he saw in the cock as well. It was then Therry was glad he wasn't on one of those ships.


	4. Wendel II

The Merman's Trident

  
 **Wendel Manderly**  
Wolf's Jaw  
Starboard Deck

Timing the distance Wendel sang to himself almost silently. "In a voice that was sweet as a peach. But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own." and as practiced he stopped himself and gave orders to open the dance. The Long Paws were firing continually, putting down any crew members on the Saucy Wench that went near the steering wheel and thereby making it a one on one fight with the "Bad Tom". Said ship had almost closed to effective archery range. The Myrmen held their fire, as they were not about to waste quarrels on men who were clearly expecting to fight missile troops.

As they didn't have pavise shields set up on their deck Ser Wendel felt no such restraint.

"Crossbows and Archers loose with me then fire at will" he cried. Let the bloody child keep his confusing yet effective attack words. Fortunately, the crew was well trained enough to answer to either "Fire!" or "Loose!".

"Port and Starboard Long Claws prepare to fire!" Wendel heaved back on his bow, aiming for the bridge of the Bad Tom, as the now un captained and un steered Saucy Wench continued in its turn. Such a turn snapped more than half dozen oars on their starboard side and also had the desired effect of tossing more than 5 Myrish Crossbowmen and a few others into the ocean. Many others were knocked down to the deck. If they were properly trained and equipped they likely could ditch their armor before they drowned, but disorientation has a real effect in combat. Then the increasing angry White Harbor knight remembered they chose to work for slavers, so fuck them!

Wendel didn't wait for the other captain to realize why letting him get the first shot off was a bad mistake and 40 bow and crossbows began rapid firing at the enemy. They needed to get them into position for the next part.

Caught by surprise by accurate crossbow and longbow fire and without the support of their compatriots on the Wench the 20 or so crossbowmen found themselves effectively suppressed. Meanwhile the largest Pirate vessel known as the Black Fist came in shooting. It had perhaps more men than the Jaw and its men carried shields to protect themselves. It was attempting to use the distraction of its collogues to close the distance and board. From their current distance their fire was more of a nuisance, but as they got closer it would become a threat.

On closer inspection Wendel noticed the Black Fist was an actual warship and a sizable portion of the crew actually appeared to be soldiers. This was confirmed later when he spotted Myrish flags and tabards among the 'sell sails'. So this was really personal and they meant to make sure his squire's new ideas didn't spread, likely by torturing the crew for information and tossing them to the sharks later.

Wendel decided to end the fight quickly and withdraw as he had no desire to risk direct conflict with equal or greater numbers. To do that he would use their aggression against them and remove each enemy from the fight in turn. "Destruction in detail" was something he and Rickard loved to practice after all.

The Tom attempted to move into a position that would allow it to ram their starboard side. Unlike the Saucy Wench their captain was smart enough to have people with shields protect the pilot and it closed the distance rapidly. However, the distraction allowed The Jaw to pull along side the ship in a smart turn, exposing its side to the Long Claws of which there were 2 below deck. Not to mention it clipped a good number of oars.

"Fire at will!" cried Wendel. The Starboard one fired at the now exposed side of its attacker.

The Long Claw was basically a medium sized alcohol gun that fired a hollow metal bolt. Inside that bolt was mixture of ethanol, flammable oils and pepper plants. The effects on the Bad Tom's crew were pretty near immediate. Originally just a trader outfit by pirates it walls offered little protection to its crew. Small balls of flame and smoke sprung up quickly and continued to build. By the time the Jaw turned around the Tom was burning out of control and men were taking a dive in the lukewarm waters of the Narrow Sea.

The Jaw repeated the process against the Saucy Wench as it passed it on the way to retreat from the Black Fist. It was also thin skinned enough to burn in one pass.

Even when comprised of quality steel, using a high proof ethanol and with a salt battery as a detonator alcohol guns were not efficient tools of war in this era. The hand held version didn't have real penetration. Even at under 20 meters it wouldn't penetrate chainmail and a good gambeson would likely stop rounds as well. The larger ones only punched through the enemy hull at damn near spiting range, which made this application more an anti boarding against unarmored attackers or a terror weapon. To be honest Wendel wasn't sure the alcohol guns would penetrate a dedicated warship at any range.

Wendel hoped those demonstrations would convince the Black Fist to disengage, either out of fear or to pick up survivors. However, whatever Myrish Magister's son was leading them was bold. He likely reasoned that if the Jaw could have destroyed them it would have. Ser Wendel cursed his luck again. He really didn't want to fight anything close to an even battle.

The Fist was full of relatively fresh men while Wendel's people had taken casualties as well. Not to mention running from an enemy, 'feigned retreat' or not, never increased moral. Judging by the size of the damn thing he'd bet they had about 300 sailors and mercenaries to his 200 combat capable crew. Taking stock of the situation he realized he wouldn't be outrunning them and tiring his rowers might spell quick death for everyone, if they were lucky.

"Shit! Prepare for a sharp port turn," Wendel cried to Len Two Fists, the helmsman. They might be outnumbered but the Jaw was still a bit taller than the Black Fist. Wendel Manderly would see how they liked a taste of the deck sweeper version. He gave orders to load glass shot and bring the anti personnel versions above deck.

They were well armed and armored and the knight reasoned the moral of the mercs had to be bottoming out after their employer just left their compatriots to die. It was still likely that a strong enough attack just might convince them to flee or reach a compromise. Ser Wendel would have to have to give up a technical advantage, but ensuring the safety of the person who made such ideas possible was more important. He had swore to both his father and Stark he would return the boy alive to the North, no matter what, and the Manderly's remembered their oaths.

"Turn!" The ships moved in toward each other firing a variety of projectiles at each other as they closed distance. A lucky or skilled shot by Myrman disabled the operators of the forward Long Paw. In exchange his men had put 9 more of the elite crossbowmen down, as while the mercs' plate chest armor might stop a bolt the energy transfer put them out of the fight. Wyman sent Wayatt, a Stony Dornish man to make sure Rickard and wolf were armored and armed. He also hoped they would not need to use said equipment.

Instead of ramming each other the two ships pulled alongside each other with a solid crash the battle was joined. Wendel really wished he had chosen to wear full plate until he saw a few unlucky men in heavy plate or cloth that fell into the water as a result of said collision. While rails, hooks and strap devices lined the Jaw the pirate captain had lacked either the concern or foresight to apply 'Occupational Safety and Health Administration' techniques. Nope, drowning was not how he intended to die. He let more of them cross the hastily thrown gang planks, many of whom were armed with spears but not shields. Ser Wendel placed that disorganization at the feet of having more than one group of mercs in the same place. They wanted to sweep him with numbers and get their prize instead of working together to make sure they survived the attempt.

He had something else to give them.

"Now!" the large knight cried.

The men near Wendel picked up the sweepers, which were alcohol guns loaded with glass and obsidian pieces. Rickard called them 'shot guns'. Wendel had seen the frightening effect said awkward looking weapons had on elk and pig carcasses. Of course the 'poor man's buckshot' did little against anyone wearing armor. Well, provided it didn't hit them somewhere vulnerable. Some of the attackers did go down clutching their faces, groins or legs; and those wounds would likely be untreatable and slowly fatal. Despite their howls of pain the number of victims was small, but what his surprise most accomplished was causing a distraction in their momentum. That allowed Ser Wendel to force his way into the shocked knot of fighters in front of him.

His vision shrank to the men in front of him as he dropped his bow and picked up his long sword and shield. "White Harbor!", he yelled as he parried a sword stroke from a cutlass. Then the powerful man ran his shield and the bulk behind it into the man's face. The fool with the three colored beard went down, likely with a broken jaw. Wendel then stepped his neck, hard before bringing his sword down on his head to be sure.

Three more foes went down in the next 12 seconds. The first with an opened gut after he misjudged Wendel's reach. His friend followed when he tried to wrestle the knight's sword away, and was successful after a manner. Said sword was planted in the merc's lungs before it left Ser Wendel's hands. The last, one of the Crossbowmen charging him with a short sword, fell when Wendel bounced a small hammer off his helm. The weight breaking his skull and dropping the green bearded pawn like a marionette with its strings cut. He frowned knowing his squire wouldn't shut up about it if he found out. Thanks to his squire's recommendation, Ser Wendel learned the value of small thrown weapons. But unlike his Squire the big knight preferred something that would work against armored opponents even if he could only carry one or two of them. He walked over to the dead merc and retrieved his blade from the corpse's chest, before taking a few seconds to breathe. Wendel was not surprised they were doing so well. While there were more enemies than allies his soldiers had trained to work together where as the enemy had at least 2 different crews to command.

Then Ser Wendel took a crossbow bolt to the back which, while not piercing the plate, staggered him long enough for someone to brain him with an axe to the helm. The last thing the Mad Merman saw was a blade coming down toward his head.


	5. Rickard II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment

The Jaws of the Steel Wolf

  
 **Rickard Snow**  
Below Decks

To say I was not pleased to be in the hold while everyone I trained with for months was risking their lives and or dying was an understatement. I could understand why Ser Wendel had ordered me down there. It did make sense they would target me individually, but I wasn't wearing distinctive armor. Also the odds of a bolt finding exposed flesh would be rather limited even if they were willing to use poison.

I was seriously considering shouldering past the 8 or so guards posted on me and risking a hiding from Ser Wendel. He had never actually beaten me, but he had threatened to do so on more than one occasion. Though to be honest I may have provoked him a bit more than was necessary or prudent. It's just his Walrus face was so funny when it turned red. It was something me and the terror twins enjoyed doing.

My internal respite ended when Therry the Key came in holding the upper torso of my knight. Happy Jess and Konnor Crabbe had the other parts. Wendel looked the worse for with a nasty looking gash on his forehead and dents along his chest and back plate. All mirth left me and a fury that I didn't understand took control of me. I was still cognizant enough to understand that I was now responsible for these people, my people. The rage subsided enough to do what was required.

"Tell me. What does it look like up there?" I ordered. Jess clutched her broken arm and stared at me.

"Bad, they pushed us back to half the deck and some of the newer ones are scared".

"But we are keeping the rotation like we trained. By the Old and the New we'll hold. Those bastards are not getting this boat," said Therry. Swiftly it was followed by the AYEs of everyone else.

"No. I believe we will be getting theirs!" was my reply. I took control of Wraith who seemed to be even angrier than I was. I impressed on him the importance of staying hidden until I called for him. We would only get one shot at surprise.

I barked out some basic orders that those around me didn't question and headed to deal with the situation with a more...personal touch. When I emerged from the doors leading to the main deck the carnage was somehow greater and less than the last time I felt that feeling. Such a thing was hard to put into words even with a collegiate vocabulary. I was angry to see so many good people hurt, in part because of my actions. There was also rage at the injustice the people in front of me were continuing to perpetrate.

At the same time I was beyond emotion, both in the sense of controlling and being controlled by it. I wasn't sure whether this was 'battle fever', the 'wolf blood', 'awoken dragon' or just my own reaction to seeing a man I deeply respected so gravely injured by the veritable scum of this poor man's middle earth knock off. My movements were both slower and so quick as to be above perception. I wasn't warging the sea gulls above but I was aware of them. 

I might have underplayed the importance of my presence and over estimated my ability to be 'non distinctive'. Yes, despite my lack of gold and silver a direwolf helm was rather flashy even among the various hand crafted personalized armors of my crew and the fact my men moved to provide me cover marked me as a leader even without such an ostentatious display of wealth.

The fighting soon slowed as both sides awaited the eventual negotiations. As such I approached the 'battle line' where I was confronted by the leader of the most organized group. He and his elites was in front and the other mercs were in deference. In all likelihood he was in fact the overall merc commander and leader of the famous band of sail sells. I think he was attempting to limit the casualties he would have to take to kill us, but I sort of wasn't paying that much attention to him. In truth I just saw a 30 something year old man in all black armor and multi colored cloak.

"So are you going to see reason now? I mean it's not like your families won't pay the ransom and the poorer ones can find service with new lords. Don't make me kill you like I did the fat." There, that was the moment. His archers and body guard had relaxed just enough for this to work, because that pitch had been successful so many times they wanted, needed to believe it would work again.

My left hand, which palmed the plumbate dart sent it right into the fucker's open mouth. From less than 12 feet it wasn't that hard a throw. As their leader chocked on his own blood the first rank of my warriors took a knee and the rear ones put arrows into the enemy archers who were still in a state of shock.

Still one of them managed a shot at me, despite the fact I was rapidly closing with their dying leader's guard. My Bastard sword picked the arrow out of the air before I ducked. Then the third rank of my soldiers tossed their javelins breaking the concentration of the men in front of me. These were the better end of the pirates, who actually wore mail or scale. However even if they didn't penetrate modified Pilum were still disorienting. They didn't live long enough to recover as my men swarmed in with spear and sword and axe.

I rose, slashing the legs from an under armored merc. He was likely a rower pressed into the battle in desperation. His cotton aketon did not protect his ankles and he went down as I used a one inch punch to send his soon to be corpse into his friends. Their line was just about to break and then I played my trump.

I motioned with my sword, more out of habit than necessity, as warging was still something some of the seven worshippers on my crew took issue with. Then a whirlwind of canine fury entered the fray with a uncharacteristic growl and roar. Usually Wraith was even more silent than his brother Ghost, but I decided loud was better today. Never underestimate the value of primal fears in close quarters. Humans are programed to fear certain animals, even when armed and in groups of kin. Lions, bears and wolves are among those. If said wolf happened to weigh more than some men and was clad in steel that terror would multiply greatly, no?

We swept the enemy forces, some who I later suspected were enslaved, from the deck. More than a few threw down their arms and cowered or decided to swim back to Myr. Those my men spared or took prisoner with knock out blows or broken limbs. I led with Therry and Wraith beside me. Konnor held a nice sized axe and put it to good use on anyone trying to flank me. The rest of the battle up until we reached the Black Fist was a blur.

I cut off the arm of some Myrish crossbowman after using my shield to block a quarrel aimed at Therry. Wraith bounced an arrow off his armored side before opening the stomach of the one foolish enough to try to kill him. I recalled him before he could start feeding. Lesson one of having magic pets, don't get them used to eating human flesh. No good comes of it. A few more fights and I took a wound to my left thigh from a spear as I climbed over to the other ship. Said opponent was in the water before I could turn my attention his way.

My men and women were right behind me as we cleared two thirds of their deck. Then most of the survivors who were still on the ship threw down their weapons. Something told me a madman covered in blood followed by a large predator had something to do with it. But off course there were always a few idiots who don't get the message. I was directed to the last scene of said combat by some of my men. A seven foot tall man with copper skin and almond eyes stood in front of a knot of fighters. All of them were wearing golden scale mail with fancy helms. His of course was the most ostentatious. Three men I knew personally were laying dead at his feet. Two of them were missing limbs and one had been decapitated. Looking at their opponent it was easy to see why.

He had large two handed curved sword that could only be made from Valyrian steel. Some of my crossbowmen were about to fire when I placed my hands for calm. Shooting down a noble, even one who had launched an unprovoked and would be declared illegal attack on my ship wouldn't be politic.

Jess whispered in my ear. "Boss I can have Therry just wound the fucker with a crossbow". I shook my head, I had a better idea. No one had brought a capture weapon in our joint bloodlust, and unlike what movies tell you there is no 'safe' place to shoot someone with an arrow.

In painfully arch high Valerian I could make out his speech. "That's right you unwashed dogs, you are right to fear the sword of Sandoq the Shadow." I told Wraith to back down mentally. The brat looked like he knew what he was doing, even though I could see a few dents in his coat, where the scales had been dented or broken. There was blood slowly dripping down his right leg, where a spear had cut him. I also suspected at least a few sword strokes from the Pattern 286 Cutlasses had gotten through his defense when my unfortunate crew members had tried to bum rush him for later ransom. There was no blood on his chest, but I suspected a few ribs or other bones were at least bruised.

Still an almost capture that resulted in four of my men dead was not acceptable. Later on I would have words with someone about implementing more discipline, we had designated bola and net users for just such occasions after all.

Knowing what was at stake I strode forward. It would save lives and help my later plans if this worked.

"Please state your name noble sir." came from my lips. I hoped my voice did not convey the contempt I held for the overgrown slaver lord. It was frequently said that the Myrmen are of Rhoynish Descent, though I hoped said measters were wrong because Nymeria and Garin would roll in their graves.

"At least one of you has manners. You have the pleasure to face Jaleso Imbrasio the third and you are?" I let his introduction remain unanswered as I fished my memory for the connection. So he was Magister Dogmo Talga's nephew. My lapse in 'good manners sparked the desired affect as his open faced helmet displayed his rage. Before he could attack I decided to play by the script.

"I am Squire Rickard Snow the Steel Wolf. The one you sought to slay and I request the honor of dueling you." I said in equally arch high Valyrian. I had studied the forms of Myr and their codes. This one was brash but not stupid, he knew that he was burned and no one would be covering up a failed assassination attempt on a foreign noble. That went double for obviously infringing on Braavosi territory to try this bullshit with someone meeting the Iron Bank. The best he could hope for was to die with honor and let his kin hire a faceless man in revenge.

His 'loyal retainers' were all collared with neck braces made from intertwined gold, silver and what I suspected was platinum. Despite their obvious fear of death each looked to him and he allowed them to stand down. Just great, institutionalized body guards who would likely take down more of my men if we rushed their boss.

"Just so we are clear when I defeat you, your entire ship compliment will surrender" I said with simply truth.

"Presumptious, but agreed. And when I take your head I and my retainers will have you as slaves" the brazen fuck said in the same condescending manner most of his kin addressed their slaves with.

"No, you get to leave with your freedom and property. They can go with you if they choose to or they can each receive 30 gold stags and a ride to Braavos and a life freedom." Realizing that he wasn't getting a better deal the arse agreed.

Seeking more information before the duel, I took the time to exchange my half sword for a longer weapon. I was not going up against Sandaqs two handed scimitar with a bastard sword just to inflate my legend. There was bold and then there was stupid after all. In this case I took a fresh two handed great sword of my own design from an artillery officer who had done no actual interpersonal melee fighting. Since it was a gift and said crewmember knew I would replace later, he didn't mind. It was a single edged backsword resembling a ninjato and was more in line with thrusting than slashing. I chose it because of its relatively thin blade, making movement easier.

Despite popular belief Valyrian Steel didn't cut through every thing like a lightsaber or 'glorious Nippon Steel' katanas. Yes Valyrian steel would laugh at chainmail in a thrust, but so would most well made swords. It was indeed possible to punch through a breastplate or ruin another sword with edge on edge combat. However, that required good aim, shitty equipment on the part of the enemy and a great deal of strength. Not to mention that you, like anyone who favored using a war pick, then had to pull your weapon out of your enemy. All while his friends had their chance for revenge.

Having said all that, Valyrian steel was far from useless and provided many solid advantages in duels. They were very light, could cause wounds and cuts with less proportionate energy used and would never bent or break. If you had one you could actually lop off the wooden hafts of pole weapons in one stroke, even though that shit was impossible in real life with any other sword. What the dragon steel could not do was chop through my deceptively thin looking blade in less than twelve strokes. I knew that because I'd tested my gear against Ice, my ostensive father's blade, and found that unless I was fighting the mountain normal steel was plenty good enough protection. There would be no blade locks and this fight would be over long before the ninth exchange.

As I made a show of inspecting my sword my direwolf's senses gave me a report. I realized from his smell via Wraith the noble was frightened. Said wounded patsy thought he brought enough gun to the fight and now everything, including the dreams of his future were fading fast. He had been sent out to do the dirty work with thoughts of being a hero. Hence why he spent so much for that fancy antique Rhoynish looking scale armor and brought what must have been a hidden family heirloom to a fight in the middle of the ocean. How many Valyrian steel swords were at the bottom of bodies of water because their owners didn't think?

The people around us cleared a space as we took our positions. He held his sword with his left as though he intended a downward vertical slash. He was favoring that side due to what I suspected were semi serious injuries. As for myself I kept mind to my own thigh wound, even though it didn't pain me the last think I needed was to falter a parry at the wrong time. Especially as I knew better than to attempt to go edge to edge with a Valyrian steel slashing weapon.

"I honestly advise you to give up. I promise you wont be tortured for information".

"Too late for words barbarian." He lashed out in the predictable way and I deflected three cuts before bouncing my sword off his helm with a swift retort. He stumbled on his off foot, wincing at injuries I suspected on his midsection. I made a flourish with my blade and a mock bow, before stalking toward him. My own injury was all but forgotten.

"In fact I'll even ransom you back to you father or uncle. I honestly don't care which of the Magisters set this up. It's way bigger than any of them."

I moved in, flicking my blade in false thrusts and mini slashes that left him guessing. As I always kept my blade away from his, and aimed at his increasingly apparent injuries and thereby putting him on the back foot. Jelaso could only guess from which angle I would strike. I provoked a predictable slash and moved in following a deflection with the intention to grapple him. He was bigger than I was, but I almost certainly was stronger and I suspected weighed more than some pampered slave lord. The fact he was both wounded and winded after so brief a fight also spoke wonders. Whoever trained him had done a good job, as bespoke the dead men I found in front of him earlier. However, there was the practice one did for the occasional honor duel and the damn near insane preparation for actual combat conditions marking my own life. Frankly this boy should have stayed home!

Then I paid for my over confidence when he switched main hands, distracting my blade work. He quickly spun and sent a surprisingly smooth, though desperate faux Win Chun kick my way as I closed to 2 inches. Such a move would ordinary have been suicide on a moving boat, but he knew I would wreck him in wrestling. Such a weak kick ordinarily would have just received a fight ending shove in reply, but in his desperation he landed it expertly on my wounded thigh. I wont lie, he knocked me for a loop. I really had to stop underestimating opponents because they looked like simpering idiotic fops. Just because Renly Baratheon was a dandy and horrible at serious ruling didn't make him a poor warrior by any means.

The kick was followed by a series of punches and diagonal flowing cuts from the former Shadow's blade. The combination caused me to lose my weapon as I dodged the blade. So the lil shyte had decent hand to hand skills, point him. For a minute I considered offering him a 'honorable' draw and letting him go free once we reached Braavos. I really didn't need his ransom or the damn sword. In truth what I really didn't need was to kill numb nuts and have his kin raged up enough to pay whatever the Temple of Black and White wanted. Then the dumb shit got cocky and even more aggravating.

"Ha, now what were you saying? Maybe you should surrender to me. I might ransom you back after I pick your brain a bit. Or maybe I'll keep you." His smug look replaced the earlier fear and now all I could see was a dark haired Joffery. I was seriously getting tired of being relatively nice. He must have mistook the anger on my face for impotent rage because he kept speaking.

"No, well I'll tell my sire what a good sport you were." He then made to cut from the same stance I noticed earlier. Only now he was significantly more tired than before. Yeah the sword of Sandaq is light, but physical exertion in an environment one is not prepared for is draining. Dehydration and his wounds didn't help either. I let him move into attack stance and quick as a snake I walked into his space. Down came the blade, but my hands clasped firmly around his wrists. Then I kicked him in the stomach, right in his wounds, before backhanding him as he doubled over in pain.

He was in fact about thirty pounds lighter than me. As such he went down and stayed that way.

"Keep him tied up. But first strip him and make sure he doesn't have any poison on him." I'd rather not have a faceless man after me anytime soon after all.

I turned to his former slaves. "You three, please tell my men where he keeps his poisons so he doesn't kill himself later. If the Sea Lord allows him to keep his property that is. Since he will be going back home alive his kin would reward you for the service." 

"Also, you are now free and will be given enough gold to choose your own fates once we reach Braavos". The slaves looked at each other and moved to obey. While I couldn't be sure but I thought I saw hope and amusement in their eyes.

So now I had a new ship, a good number of ransom worthy prisoners and a Valyrian steel sword out of legend.

All that was missing was the other shoe.


	6. Howland I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we go back in time to see how our Hero came into the world.
> 
> Feel free to comment.

The Bearer of Bad News

**Howland Reed**  
283 After conquest Afternoon. (June, earth Analogue)  
Tower of Joy  
The Prince's Pass, Dorne  
Between Nightsong and Kingsgrave

Afternoon

Howland Reed was Lord of the Neck, the strongest Green Seer north of the Isle of Faces in generations and master of herblore The Citadel would never know was lost. Sorrow and a million regrets welled in his breast as he turned to his friend, his soon to be last living true friend outside the neck and shook his head.

All his learning, all the rituals and near death experiences he had endured to learn the ways of his ancestors and the Children could do nothing. He could do nothing to help his.... friend. Howland broke down in tears as he dragged himself toward a bench.

The short statured lord sat down, both his blood stained hands were clutching his grief stricken face. His head rested between his knees as he shook back and forth to a rhythm only he could hear. The gifted armor was rough against his skin, but scrapes didn't mean any more than the bruises, saddle sores and sun burns he had endured to get here.

He thought back to the night before this...this tragedy.

Earlier

"Ned we have to approach this carefully. There is more going on here than you realize..." Howland said in a matter of fact tone. His normally rational friend cut him off.

"That ....man has my sister in that damn place. We are getting her out of there before anything else can happen to her. The time for patience is over. I followed that letter and trust in your visions. That has given us this chance. You are sure she is there Reed?" The last statement might have been insulting coming from anyone other than his liege. Green sight was not perfect, but those who mastered it did not take such statements of doubt lightly. Howland breathed deeply and replied with respect and compassion to his friend.

"As sure as the sun rises and sets your sister is in that tower. It is not just Ashara's words that speak to it. Tis the only place in this area that has the things Rhaegar needed most. It's easy to see who is coming, few people have reason to come near it and it can be defended from small numbers of bandits or broken men with only a handful of stout warriors. That tower is the only place we know that fits and is close enough for Rhaegar to have gotten to the trident when he did." The logic of Howland's arguments drowned out the horrifying reality of his green dream. A she wolf laying in her blood, her belly torn open and small scales like those of a dragon nearby. Worse the wolf had a noose of moss wrapped around her throat.

Whether all or part of his dream were shaped by his fears, desires and guilt Howland could not say. And he would not even consider the fact he was indirectly responsible for Lyanna's dire peril. A part of him said that Rheagar would not have noticed her had the brave girl not interceded with those squires to save him. Had Howland been more mindful and less trusting those callow youth would never have gotten the drop on him. But he had wanted to see the jousting so badly, and he did have a 'right' as a noble to walk in through the main path with his father's colors shining in the sun. And then he had seen her through the trees, the loveliest girl the crannogman had ever seen. She wasn't only pretty, Howland could see the intelligence and fierceness even from so far away. He could not sneak in and expect her to respect him. No he would walk in pride like any true noble, even if she would never acknowledge his feelings Lyanna would have a good impression of him. The rest was history.

"And I realize more than you give me credit for old friend" Ned said with a subtle wink and a raised eyebrow. Howland feared for a moment he would be rebuked for setting his sights above his station but then Eddard Stark continued. "There are 3 of the most deadly knights in Westeros with my sister and god forbid the Targaryen heir. Men who stood by while Aerys brutalized his wife to keep their vows. Their king is dead and so is his son and family. Only Viserys and the pregnant queen are still alive and they are under siege and second in succession. In their lifetime these men have seen two of their number break their vows, instead of dying. Right now they are desperately clinging to any chance to keep their honor, which we both know means taking Lyanna and or the heir out of Westeros." Howland could only nod at his liege's sound reasoning. However, he had to try once more to avert the tragedy the Reid heir felt partially responsible for.

"Showing our hand with anger and the threat of death in broad daylight is insane Ned! They will know we are coming the minute we are within half a mile. Who is to say they won't just bundle her on a horse and be gone before we arrive? Or just threaten to slit her throat if we don't back away."

Ned smiled. It was both comforting and rebuking at the same time. "Don't be foolish, you know better. Those three are the best of the kings guard. If she had given birth already they might have simply left her behind, but hostage taking is beneath them. More so they won't do anything that would jeopardize their future king. That especially means not putting strain on a pregnant woman so close to giving birth. They gave up everything for that white cloak and seeing that child on the throne or married to Viserys is their only goal. That we won't allow. I will not loose any more of my blood to that iron monstrosity!" Ned's fist slammed into his palm for emphasis.

"We have to move before the child is born because once it is they will be dust in the wind. Doran isn't stupid, if they set foot on the main roads they will raise suspicion and if Lyanna has a boy only the gods know what will happen. Oberyn will be mad with grief and there are many in Dorne still furious about that idiot shaming their Princess. Tell me how safe do you think they will be Reed? Do you think anyone will even listen to reason if they run into the Red Viper?" Howland shook his head, even though the question was rhetorical.

"Yet there are other means to save your sister that might better serve us. The crannogmen are no great knights but we have staved off many an invasion. Most of which never made it into the histories..." started the small man before being cut off by the wolf lord.

"And as for sneaking into the tower at night, do you really think you can take out the sword of the morning even with surprise? Can you honestly climb a 20 foot tower and sneak past 3 of the Kings guard to poison their food without any of them realizing it? I know none of the rest of us can. What would dying men do in that situation if you didn't get them all at once? Can you be sure my sister wouldn't taste any of their food before the poison took effect?" Stark put an arm around his shorter friend. He stared into his eyes with compassion and sorrow, but steel and fire shone in those grey pits as well.

"Do you imagine yourself rescuing your lost love like some gallant knight of song? You were there when that kind of thinking started all this. Yes, I know you love her too Howland. There is no shame in it, but the time of such things is long gone. This isn't your fault, no matter what you may be thinking in your head. We are all responsible for our choices and never those of others. Two years ago we left childhood behind, as you have told me many times." Having sensed he lost the argument, even before he opened his mouth Howland Reed subsided with a bow.

"I know your worth my old friend. Can't you trust me a little, at least for a while longer? This is our best chance to avoid bloodshed." Afer a minute Reed nodded. Then they clasped hands and rejoined the others and ate in companionable silence.

So as the night wore on the little Crannogman took his liege lord's words as comfort and did his best to put the best spin on his feeling of dread. Then after his friends had gone to bed he took the first watch and saw to his weapons, both those approved of by his companions and those they did not. For as much as he wanted to believe his friend's words of peace and reasonable actions he knew in some part of him beyond conscious thought he would have need of them.

Sometime between

Howland said that he would hold the horses and allow those of greater stature to plead their case to the Kingsguard. Stark agreed with him that his perceived stature might give offense to the great knights and make violence more likely. His other friends said nothing to dissuade him as despite the gifted armor all present knew Reed wouldn't be of that much use in a fight of this nature armed with a short spear. He hoped his friends didn't think any less of him, and understood fear wasn't his reason for staying back.

This wasn't going to work, he knew it before they started down the single road to meet the living legends in front of them. Reed knew it when he saw the looks of determination and remorse in the White Bulls eyes as he realized exactly who was speaking to him. There was simply no way to reach a compromise when each of them wanted something completely at odds and neither would admit their goal was a nursery tale.

Hope for a peaceful resolution was doomed to fail before The Sword of the Morning said "And now it begins." From the mournful way Ser Arthur said those words he had to know how the battle would end before the first blow was struck.

A bloody future was written in stone before "And now it ends" rolled with grief from Eddard Stark's tongue. He as well could see just how far the situation had degraded from reason and sanity and Howland knew it both sickened and grieved him to be party to this. Yet and still for his sister's life he did not hesitate to bring his family's great sword down upon the White Bull's guard in an attempt to overwhelm him with youthful vigor.

Though the attempt to end the battle in one blow failed, so did Ser Oswald's diagonal slash at Ned's Neck. While Eddard was not strictly speaking the most famous of warriors he was the frequent sparring partner of Robert Baratheon who was. Not to mention a year of bloody warfare had seasoned the already tough northern lord. Thus the conflict was joined and the song of steel filled the plain beneath the dilapidated tower.

To call it a epic battle would be exaggeration. It was over in less than 30 seconds. Dustin was the first to fall with Went's sword in his neck. One death that his dreams told him would lead to more grief for house Stark in the future. That distraction allowed Martyn Cassell a chance to tie him up and for Ned to bring Ice into play. The trio had killed his friend, a veteran of at least five battles in a matter of seconds. Kingsguard were really that good, at least Aerys's generation was.

Howland did not see the next exchanges because he had uncovered his horse blanket and removed his weirwood bow and the 9 arrows coated with the deadliest poison he knew how to make. This wasn't an honorable battle of knights, this was a mission to help his sworn brother and the woman he secretly loved for almost two years avoid death.

When he had eyes on target two of his friends were dead and the White Bull had lost his left hand at the wrist. If he had to guess Ned had used Ice when Hightower was slaying Glover as Went's sword was red in his disconnect hand laying on the stony dust beneath him. Without thinking the White Bull buffeted Ned away from him and scooped his sword up in his other hand. Then the first arrows entered the fray.

Had Howland told Ned or the others what he intended they likely would stopped him; well tried to stop him. He would forever regret letting Ned talk him out of shooting the three deluded arses in the night. Men had to piss sometime and even the kingsgaurd didn't wear armor to the privy.

That arrow was cut out of the air by Whent with something approaching contemptuous ease. It still allowed a dying Theo Wull to grab his sword arm and drive a dagger into his armpit and past the chainmail there.

He either didn't see or couldn't remember how the White Bull died as he was focused on Ned. It was a good thing too as Ser Arthur had used Dawn to Shatter Martyn Cassell's sword and with his magic blade took his head with his next move. Even with Valyrian steel such a thing should have been impossible. Yet few Northerners, even lords, had the same high quality plate found in places like Kings Landing. Not to mention Martyn didn't have a gorget, only chainmail.

Ned lost himself to the 'wolfs blood' and the two began a rapid exchange of sword strikes which saw him wound Ser Arthur in the left foot with a back slash in exchange for a thrust that slid past his thigh protection on the right side. Ice slid from his fingers as the Sword of the morning raised Dawn to deliver the finishing move.

Howland didn't have a great shot but he had no time to find a perfect one. Howland's arms moved as a springing cobra and his fourth arrow slid past Ser Arthur's guard to pierce his cheek. The Sword of the Morning turned to him then as he pulled the shaft out and spat blood. It would take a shot to the eye or down the throat for a typical crannog bow to kill a grown man in one hit. It was damn near impossible to punch through chain mail with one even at fourteen paces.

To most knights it would have seemed little more than cheap distraction, unworthy of notice. Reed hoped that Dayne would dismiss it until it was too late. However, Ser Arthur was not most men and had just as much knowledge of his body as he did his sword. Less than a second later the wielder of Dawn understood what had happened to him.

The venom of the Bog Moccasin was potent enough to give it the name of 3 step death. Howland guessed most men could survive maybe 20 seconds after that hit. Of course before they died they would endure delusions and hyperventilation.

Reed would never understand what Ser Arthur did next. Instead of driving Dawn through Eddard Starks aventail and tossing his sword at Howland the Sword of the Morning paused. He bowed his head to him with a look that seemed to imply gratitude and raised his sword in an awkward stance that left him vulnerable. Then the most skilled knight in a group of sword gods missed his thrust and waited the three seconds it took Ned to shove his punch dagger into his neck.

Howland knew Ser Arthur was in control of his actions. He also knew four seconds would have been enough to kill them both, as there was no way he would have dodged Ser Arthur's throw at that distance.

Reed suspected Ned had figured it out himself rather quickly as he regained his footing and began removing his armor to check his wound.

Ned turned to him with a look he never saw on his face before. However before either of them could voice their thoughts they heard a woman's scream.  



	7. Eddard I

His Sister's keeper

  
 **Eddard Stark**  
Tower of Joy  
Dorne

  
The screams of his sister sounded as though they were increasing in intensity. It might have just been his imagination however. The shape of the tower, its height and location at a windy elevation played with sound in ways that turned the wails of childbirth into the mournful recriminations of a wraith. From the Neck to the Wall there were a litany of stories telling of the exploits of such wrathful ghosts of mistreated women. They all tended to start with the wailing driving the offender mad before some horrible justice was met to them.

'I have much to answer for in this matter' was a thought that frequently crossed his mind from the moment he heard that sister had been 'taken'. If only he had only spoken to his father about his suspicions. If only he had forced his baby brother to open his mouth. If only he had grabbed Brandon by the neck and made him see reason. If.if.if.

The rational part of his mind told him his father was far older than him and was as sly in the ways of politics as any southron. Not to mention he had raised all four of them and knew their personalities just as well as Eddard, if not better. If Rickard didn't see through Lyanna's 'small rebellion' or have knocked sense into Brandon there was nothing Eddard could have done which would have made a whit of difference.

It still felt like he had failed his family and his friends. Out of the five Starks who were alive three years ago only 2 were safe and as he didn't know the full seriousness of his side wound that was iffy. That did not bode well for a bloodline that stretched back to the Age of Heroes. The pain in his side seemed to vanish as he ate the steps in front of him. There were no further guards with crossbows or spears, otherwise without his breastplate and greaves it would have been childsplay to thwart his impromptu family reunion.

As he reached his sister's cell he was met with a smell he recognized many times from his times on the battlefield. It only put more power into his legs. The sounds of his footsteps turned the corner and he remembered the sword in was still in his scabbard. Ned drew it and opened the door.

Inside was a cozy if somewhat stale rectangular room. There was one window in the eastern corner, a bed, some chairs and a desk. Aside from some rugs depicting Dornish heroism, a fairly clean chamber pot and some vases of water there wasn't much to talk about.

That is other than the sweating form of his very pregnant sister and a rather nervous looking woman who might have been in her late twenties. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, more black than brown and fell to her mid back. Her features tended toward the sharper angular First Men stock more than most Dornishmen in the area, though she could still pass for a Sandy Dornish in a pinch. She was pale, slightly plump with large breasts and firm hips. His first impression was midwife.

Seeing what the woman was doing, his assumptions were proven correct. However the nervous woman reasonably became pale upon seeing a 6 foot tall bloody man wielding an equally bloody Valyerian steel blade. After recognizing the terror in her blue eyes and understanding that he was the only man in the room he started to lower his weapon. That was hen his sister beat him to the punch.

"Ned Stark! Put that fucking sword away before you give Wylla a heart attack!"

He was speechless for a moment. For half a year he wondered what had become of his sister. Did she truly leave of her own accord? While she was willful and perhaps enamored of the golden tongued prince did that mean she wasn't intimidated when he showed up with a retinue of kingsgaurd to spirit her away? What was her reaction when word of Brandon and Father came? Was there ever a time when she was scared and alone?

Now that she was before him he couldn't decide what to ask her first.

In the midst of his indecision his sister broke his deadlock.

"Fuck Ned! Put the goddamn sword away or chop off our heads, some of us are too busy giving birth to deal with your bullshit. Though I find it very strange you cut down three kingsgaurd just to kill me and a midwife" said the red faced Stark in her most defiant tone.

Same old Lya. Stern enough to stare down a shadow cat or a dire wolf without steel in hand. A smile came to his face as he considered her puffy, yet pale cheeks. A flicker of the life he remembered lingered in her eyes and a half smile formed on his face without his conscious command.

The sword was inside of his scabbard between one breath and the next. Said scabbard and the sword belt were placed on a chair soon after. Then he was wrapping his bloody arm around his sister, the other was still pressing the cloth Howland Reed had given him against his side.

The little Crannogman had threatened him at spear point to wait until he could put the Myrish fire on said rag.

"I'm not going through this to bury you as well. Three minutes won't change anything. I will get what I need for the struggle ahead. Say hello to Lya for me and don't threaten her. She knows how bad things are and making her feel worse.." Ned had stopped him there.

"I'm here to help her and my blood, not place judgement on her" Ned said to his friend with more heat than he intended. Neither said any more as he made for the steps. His thoughts snapped back to the present situation as she returned the hug with one arm. Ned could feel that she wasn't as strong as she normally would be. Her skin was warm, hotter than the room and almost as bad as some parts of the Prince's Pass.

"Now Ned I know you are upset but strangling me isn't much better than the sword. At least let me explain what I can. Then you can fill me in on what I missed." He realized he was being too rough and stepped back. The midwife bowed when he noticed her gathering the things she would soon need.

"I think I understand what happened. But I have a feeling that someone else wants to join the conversation and they inherited your patience." He smiled, who said Ned couldn't tell a joke?

Lya frowned before punching him in the arm. "Your humor is still shit, just like Bran always said. Shit Bran." Her face went slack a moment while mental and physical pain warred for control of her vocal chords. As a testament of her strength only a slight murmur passed her lips.

It was then he could finally name the familiar smell about his sister. It was something he had become accustomed to while visiting the wounded and suffering men he had led south to die. All for something that was based largely on a lie or least a very well stretched truth.

That something was a smell that accompanied war and its aftermath.

The smell of fever and inflamed flesh.  



	8. Wylla I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment.

A hard day's work

 **Wylla**  
The Tower of Joy  
Dorne

She looked at the two high born siblings as they blathered on about the types of shyte that really didn't matter. Just as they were wont to do when they called on her services. What they aught to have done was talk about the fact there would soon be two more babies in this world and asking what the midwife needed to make sure they lived long enough to care about some silly arsed throne.

But what did she know? She wasn't anyone with a title or lands or money. She couldn't read, fight with swords, count past 40 or do any number of things.

What she could do and do well was keep babies and their mothers alive during difficult pregnancies and this was one such time. The girl was sicker than she knew and Wylla of nowhere now was scared. She had every right to be, if that mad fucker with the sword blamed her for his sister's death in childbirth she was dead. If he thought she might talk about what happened here she was dead. If he didn't like the look she gave him Wylla was dead.

She took a deep breath. The girl said her brother was the honorable type and he'd let her go with some gold in her pockets. Bless her lil heart. the 'woman' of six and ten thought running off with a married man was a good idea so yeah her judgement was just a wee suspect. Wyla was under no delusions about her chances if Lyana left this world or ' dear Ned' thought she was a risk to his kin.

"Milord, excuse me," she said in her humblest voice.

"Yes, Wylla is it?" he replied. Why must these lords be such damn fools? she wondered.

"I believe you should be expecting twins, and your sister is not well. That an she needs things I ain't got." The man's face dropped and a look of fear and anger seized his face.

"Ned, stop scaring her. It's not her fault we don't have the supplies!" She could see the madman about to ask another dumb question like 'whose fault is it?'. What was it with these puffed up fucks. Did they thinks she volunteered to be cooped up in a dessert hold like a bandit with three of the best killers in Westeros, a pregnant fool and a prophesy spouting son of the mad fucking king?

And if Stark expected the fucker who thought it was good idea to snatch the soon to be bride of a major lord, his cousin mind you, to make logical plans then there were more luny idiots in charge of 'great houses' than she thought. Seven help them all, it might be better she died here than see what the "Prince that was promised" did to the world if he inherited their wits.

Lyana slapped the idiot lord across the back of the head before saying "Ned, she had done the best job she can with what was available." That seemed to calm the giant killer down enough for her to take stock of the new situation. Then a strange man walked into the room. He was clad in skins from the waist up. Below that he wore what appeared to be a plate skirt and mail leggings that were likely owned by someone else. She could tell because he didn't walk like he was comfortable in them. In his hand was a rather large bag. His voice was strong despite his smaller size.

"Let me make this simple for you Ned. Unless we listen to this woman very carefully and the gods are feeling especially merciful your sister and her babes will perish. Then this whole series of tragedies and foolishness would have been for nothing." Then the small muscular man turned to her and bowed.

"My apologies for our bad behavior lady Wylla. My name is Howland Reed heir of the Grey Water Watch. That is Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell. I know many herbs that can help with fevers and some mysteries of the body and mind". He bowed toward her again, this time favoring her with a smile.

"Tell me how we may be of assistance and we will do so without question". She looked into his eyes and saw he wasn't lying. It was also obvious to her the young man was in love with the wolf princess. Seriously, did the highborn really have nothing better to do than turn their lives into bard's songs? Though honestly she really wouldn't care if they left the rest of them alone.

"My lord Stark please go boil some water in that kettle over there and I will need strips of cloth" She said in a careful voice. Caring of the present womanfolk and 'decent for lords' didn't mean much when small folk were concerned. Wylla might save both mother and babes and the two loons might yet skin her back for insulting their pride.

She next turned to the small man. "Lord Reed tell me you have Monk's Wart or Green Sable with you." She saw the dismay in his face, he at least understood exactly what was happening then and just how little time they had to find a way around it.

"I do have Essense of Tiger Lilly and some Myrish Fire. Though one of my friends is hurt badly and might need it later." He opened his bag and laid out what he had managed to bring with him. Reed's look, manner and accent clicked then. He was a Crannogman, who kept the old ways.

It was nice to find a so called herb master who knew his shit. They might actually save Lyanna, the babes and coincidentally her own life yet.  
She turned to her fellow prisoner and likely the only person involved in their secret conclave still alive. Well, Lyanna was the only one Wylla had personally met. Someone had to tell the party of northmen where to come. She grabbed Lyanna's right hand.

"You need to be strong girl. These babes need you to keep it together. It wont be long, ya hear"


	9. Rickard III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment.

A whole old word

  
 **(SI) Rickard Snow**  
The Tower of Joy  
Dornish Red Mountains Near Kingsgrave  
283 After Conquest

A few days before Ned and company roll by

Unlike what some people might think reincarnation wasn't a bed of roses or some wonderful 'do over'. I didn't get the benefit of gaining awareness at an age where I could reasonably pretend to be a gifted if somewhat odd child. That would have just let me write down what I needed to remember in an elaborate code. No, whatever sick fucker thought this would amuse them wanted 'extra realism and difficulty'.

I remembered every damn minute of my new life from about the second trimester. So I was there listening to the various arguments between the goddam kingsgaurd, the midwife and my not!mother for the better part of five months. I now knew these apologist, fanatical enablers better than they knew themselves.

You don't really know a man until you've spent three months trying to sleep while he drops logs in the room next door and do otherwise. The fact said yes men had to stay within 20 feet of my ride to keep her from bolting after her old man and brother were exposed to a lethal amount of Targaryen did wonders for privacy. I also noted said tower walls were cracked and partially crumbling.

Well, I did that when I wasn't sleeping or irritating my not!mother and not!brother. I'll admit I wasn't exactly pleasant company for the 'poor girl'. But from my perspective I was prisoner in mad house filled with the incredibly unlucky, willfully ignorant and fanatical reactionaries. I couldn't do anything including breath until I was out of there and it pissed me off.

"Looks like the little ones are feisty" came the voice of Wylla. Her voice was always comforting to my not!mother. I could tell even from inside the womb she was a source of strength to Lyanna. Thought the fact she was a fellow prisoner wasn't 'their only bond.

Both women were intelligent enough to question the world around them and had the courage to face the answers. Only Wylla had had the benefit of real experience whereas Lyana had been able to read second hand 'sanitized' accounts. What I found funny is that Lyana never offered to teach Wyla that skill and the midwife never asked. Then again I was looking at it from my modern perspective. Reading and writing were things we needed to use everyday. For Wylla that skill would only give her some personal satisfaction unless she opted to expand her business model.

I never asked anyone to teach me how to lay pipes, because it was something I paid other people to worry about. Of course after almost a year of hearing my mother using a chamber pot and furiously going over all I knew of high school and college physics I sure wish I had at least wikied the flush toilet before I left my world.

"No just the one on top. He really isn't happy being cooped up in my belly. Though I can't say I don't understand the feeling. Can't wait to tell Mr Ice and Fire he got one of each." Both ladies snickered at her joke. That my not!mother didn't begrudge me my tantrum only made me feel slightly guilty. 

The midwife followed up with "Him and his prophesy didn't see that one coming did he? Between you and me I think they are both boys." They laughed again, this time with more gusto.

Lyanna rubbed her belly. "It won't be long my Rhaegar. Please let me and your brother have peace," she said in calm soothing voice as a matter of rote. That time I allowed the part of me that was her son to accede to her demands. After all I would indeed be out soon, and her cannon fate was unkind enough as it was already.

D Day

"All right. That's it push, one. two. three push," came the orderly voice of the midwife. I could make out the form of my little brother Jahaerys leaving before me. I honestly didn't care one whit if 'Mr. I dunna want it' slipped out into the world ahead of me. It would make two of us. That throne wasn't just a death trap it was literally a piece of evil that spread sickness. It wouldn't surprise me if the thing was magically alive and seeking to devour its next victim. Far as I was concerned me and him were the last fully sane and intelligent members of this house in our generation.

If I could I would make sure he had a full and happy life. Well him and the rest of our 'family', as that was one value I didn't plan on changing to adopt to this new world. As I felt the over pressure change I realized he was already gone. Soon it would be my turn.

Of course then I learned there would be problems abundant in this new life. Namely the umbilical cord that had wrapped around my neck sometime during the last two days in the oven. Without fine motor control there was shit I could do as the actions of my birth slowly chocked me to death. I remembered cursing fate again from preventing me affecting my destiny. Fortunately, that was when Mr. Ozarks worked a bit of his skills.

It would seem that among the 'magics' of the crannogmen was a thing called CPR. I woke up crying, and fortunately I didn't have quite enough motor control to form words. Now all I had to do was avoid acting too intelligent until I could play it off. No point in setting off Ned's paranoia or getting labeled a 'witch'.

Of course hiding from the resident greenseer was easier said than done. When my grey eyes met his I knew instantly I was up shit creek.

"Why would you say that little Rickard?" his voice wispered in my head. Better yet I'd say we were in a shared dream space. Behind the sentence there was an attitude of both wariness and support. If I played this wrong I could earn a serious enemy, but if my suspicions were right I could make a very important ally.


	10. Lyanna

The lovely lone wolf

**Lyanna Stark**  
Tower of Joy  
Dorne

"Don't worry about the lil hell raiser. Milord will see to him. Just keep breathing slow while I patch you up" her newest friend said. There was a shit ton of pain everywhere. If someone had told her childbirth was this painful she would have gelded that silver headed cunt the minute he started plying her with 'the seasons of my love'.

She was feeling a bit light headed. The sweat pouring down her face intensified and she was finding it a bit hard to breathe regularly. This feeling wasn't as bad earlier, but she knew she was sick for the last 3 months. If she had to guess it was the hot temperature and dry air. The heartbreak and stress that came with her family's death and finding out your her new 'husband' was more worried about invaders from beyond the wall than pissing off four of the most powerful houses in the goddamn 7 kingdoms didn't help either.

In her heart she felt like she was dying and she knew she deserved it and whatever pain her last moments entailed. Lyanna prayed regularly that the Old Gods would forgive her and didn't have anything like the 7 hells awaiting to punish her selfish stupidity. More importantly she prayed the gods old or new would save her children and protect them from their parent's actions.

When she heard the crying of her second born son, tears of joy streaked down her face.

"Please let me hold them" she said. Her weak voice came as a surprise to herself. Though in truth Lyanna didn't even mind her demise at that moment. In some ways it could be better. There was no way she would give her children away and Robert.. Robert would not be understanding.

Howland Reed held onto Rickard, yes that would be the name she gave him, while looking him over. Fine, she trusted him to know what needed doing and she had enough time to do this much right at least. Wylla simply passed the older one her way without fuss and she placed him to breast while stroking his head. She motioned for her brother to come closer.

"This one is Jaeherys, but name him Jon." Her brother didn't understand what she was implying but he nodded and smiled as he looked at the tiny thing his nephew was. Upon hearing her voice Howland finished whatever weird Crannogman rite he was doing with her second born. He seemed to approve of the boy, which was passing odd as the brat had given her the most trouble. Someone else might ask how Lyanna knew which one was the trouble maker, but they were her damn kids. She was glad Howland like the boy, he would make a good uncle for him later.

When Reed finally handed her second son to her she, Howland, Ned and the wetnurse were shocked. In the drama of saving his life none of them had realized they were identical!

There had been twins born to house Stark before and the same went for House Targaryen but identical twins were almost unheard off. At least none had been spoken of in hundreds of years. There were all kinds rumors about them, namely that they were one soul split into two or some kinds of witch or god beings. Lyanna didn't pay any of that any mind, but she hoped it didn't add to any weight of destiny her sons faced.

She took him and placed him on her other breast. Howland and Ned had the decency to look away, though she noted that Reed had done so a second after her brother. She smirked at him and arched her brow for a second. Wylla actually stepped on his left foot, though gently. At least Howland had the decency to look abashed. Her brother as usual didn't catch on, bless his soul.

Lyanna would have loved to take the time to tease them both, but the time for such had passed long ago. Not to mention her time was running out.

"He was going to be Rhaegar, but Rickard sounds better all things considered." She looked at Wylla, who nodded. There was no need to talk about proposed Visenyas. Rheagar and herself looked like idiots enough without one more fucking stupid prophesy.

Her brother nodded.

"Those are good names and I'm sure they will honor them both." Howland looked at her waning face and he could see where this was going even if her brother could or would not.

"Might I speak with Reed alone for a moment" she asked her brother. When he looked concerned she smirked. "God's Ned its not like I'll run off with him seeing as how there's only one stair well leading here and neither of us can fly." Ned snickered, gave Howland a look she didn't quite place and walked out followed by Wylla.

When she had said her piece to him she asked him to send Ned back in.

Nine minutes later

  
"I can do that much at least Lya. But why can't you do it? Tis not hard to bury an empty coffin and six people can hire a ship without all that much notice. We can send you to the neck until things calm down or at worst Braavos." Lyanna was shocked and gladdened her brother cared to risk so much for her despite her folly. But at the same time the fact he would risk the rest of her house caused her shame and also made her want to smack him in the head.

Instead Lyanna Stark smiled at her brother before handing him the children one at a time. Oddly for all his earlier fussiness Rickard didn't make a peep and it was his brother that caused more noise.Then that sense of floating away came to her again. It was relaxing and peaceful. In her mind the people responsible for this much pain and misery shouldn't get off so lightly. However she would not question the mercy of the gods.

Her eyes closed. If they were especially just she would be greeted by her 'husband' tied to a tree and a fairly nice sized stick within her reach!

"Lya I know when you're trying to avoid dealing with something. I think I've let you get away with enough." When she didn't respond he looked down at her abdomen and let out a roar.

That roar roased her from her slumber as well as setting the babies to crying.

"Lya! Howland bring the wetnurse and.." Before he could finish Howland came in with his leather valise and a grim look.


	11. Rickard IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments.

Welcome to your life

  
**(SI) Rickard Snow**  
Winterfell  
283 After Conquest   
Sometime around September analog

Ever heard the term trapped inside your own head? Before I got my Quantum Leap on that phrase simply defined a situation where I was thinking about a problem so long someone else had to slap me upside the head for ignoring the here and now.

What Howland did however was a more literal example of it. We both agreed it was unlikely I could keep myself from speaking or doing anything that would have me branded a witch child so he used his Green Seer bullshit to basically split my mind until age 6. Instead of creating two personalities, what it did was make me appear as simple as Hodor until age 5. At that point my faculties would emerge over the year.

While the simpleton would show delayed learning my 'real' mind would exist in a dream state where I could observe things around me and make plans. For some reason he could even keep me from going insane. At year five Ned would receive a letter from Howland to place me in the Godswood to receive a 'blessing' from the Old Gods.

Hopefully, 'the old gods did it' would squash any future problems about me being 'too smart', but I was not looking forward to essentially being a mute who could barely walk or feed himself for 5 years. It had a certain genius to it, as it would make people more inclined to listen to me. So all in all it was the best solution we could come up with in such short notice.

  
The keep

  
I was with my twin in an adjacent room with our wet nurse. For the record said nurse wasn't Wylla for she had taken a very cushy job with the Daynes. As added insurance for my cover story she would claim to be our mother. If like I believed the Lord of Starfall and his household suspected anything, they were wise enough to keep it to themselves. After all they would likely suffer far worse than a tongue lashing from either the king or Lord Martel. Doran and Oberyn might not be so understanding about how closely involved both Arthur and Ashara in the situation. So like most of the solutions involved in this shitshow it resulted in a compromise that left no one happy and could unravel into a great bloody catastrophe should the wrong person open their mouths or grow the first clue about investigative problem solving.

Which brought me to listening the natural aftereffects of compromise number two of the "What happens in Dorne Stays in Dorne" boogaloo.

"Not one bastard, but two Ned?" came the waspish voice of my step mother. The red headed woman's voice was low, but sharp as a whip.

"They're the same age as your true born child. I'm not some commoner trollop who believes in grumpkins and snarks. Bastards don't age different from anyone else! You had mistress at the same time you married me." Cat did not let the man open his mouth once before she continued.

"I don't believe you! You the honorable Ned Stark would shame me like this. At least tell me you fucked her before we were engaged." She waited another few seconds to see if Ned would have at least that much sense.

Part of me was screaming 'Damn it man could you give her that much at least', after all it wouldn't change the timeline very much.

He could just say he gave the unknown woman some gold and an introduction to work somewhere down south once he heard about Brandon's death and the new engagement. It would be a simple way to explain why no one would remember seeing her. Few people would gainsay a lord's memory over something this trivial and taking the kind route would fit Eddard's reputation for integrity.

He wouldn't have to name the people who he sent her to or the woman. And because they didn't exist no one could track them down. I really wished Howland hadn't left or we had considered that story to give to him.

But Ned being Ned didn't get it. She was giving him a way out that wouldn't hurt her as much. He just saw another set of lies he would have to tell and more complications. So when confronted with a question he saw no good answer for he kept silent.

I heard furniture crash and she began to wail, I imagined tears streaming down her cheeks. Shit! I did not relish the idea of spending months of time let alone the entire year of Balon's Rebellion alone with this woman even after I could talk.

Against this emotional outpour Ned's voice was solid, and mournful.

"I'm sorry. Things happened that I did not plan for." I heard a haughty laugh and the southern lady spoke to my 'father' with a mocking voice. I imagine it would be one she often used on her brother when he misbehaved or did something especially foolish.

"Really, you didn't plan for her to get pregnant while you met your needs. Needs that you clearly couldn't suppress for less than four months. You clearly didn't plan on her not taking moon tea. Or plan on her realizing having the child of her lord paramount was the best way out of a life of poverty, starvation and misery?" I was actually surprised Lady Stark could reason so well. Were the books wrong or just exaggerating her flaws of overlooking the needs of anyone not noble. I mean she was in Littlefinger's brothels and couldn't piece together that the man was terrifying pimp to those with no recourse.

"Did she try to blackmail you? Ask for too much hush money? Is that why you took the children from her? Well fine and good. Give them to one your banner men. I'm sure they can find something for them to do. Just don't keep them here with your REAL Children!".

Which was the wrong tack to take with a man like Eddard Stark. His voice lost its compassion and contrition very quickly. He didn't yell because he didn't have to. The ice in his voice would have broken stone.

"He is my blood. I am the lord of Winterfell and I say who stays and who leaves. You will do well to remember that." There was a long silence and the sound of her sobs ended, to be replaced by a voice as hard as steel for all its feminine timbre.

"Well My lord of Winterfell, you may decide who comes and goes within this castle and that is well and good. However, I decide who is welcome through my own gates." With that I heard the sound of her shoes on the stones followed by a slamming door. Angry foot falls continued for another few seconds.

Way to go Ned!

Winterfell  
285

"You may go Sarah" came in a way too relaxed tone. Having been dismissed the brown haired woman left my room and me with the Lady Stark. I was two years old and as per the plan unspeaking. My eyes stared at the red haired woman wearing a stern face. In her hands were a bottle of sweet wine and a silver cup.

"If the gods are good, it will just be you soon." She took a sip of her wine, a long one. A tear streaked down her face. I really wanted to empathize with the woman. I really did but she just wished my brother to die of a fever.

"If Howland hadn't done whatever northern sorcery he did one more stain would be gone from our marriage bed." She took another sip. Cat met my eyes then looked away. Fortunately, I soiled myself at that time and thus spared myself having to listen to any more of her vitriol.

"Uggh, Sarah! come back here and see to your duties."

This was going to be a very long 5 years.


	12. Eddard II

Between a rock and hard place

 **Eddard Stark**  
Winterfell  
285 After Conquest, Closer to December

The Stark Lord was especially happy that Jon recovered from his fever. And although he was loath to rejoice in the misfortune of one his blood, the fact Jon's absence got Rickard to actually take notice of his surroundings was a hidden blessing.

The child was cranky and would frequently cry during the times Jon would usually play with him. Rob would attempt to take up the slack, when Cat would allow it that is. However, the silent boy would still look around Robb as if waiting for his birth brother.

That Rickard could tell different people apart and had a preference was refreshing. Robb didn't take it as a slight either but was almost as happy as Jon had been when he found out. There was an actual person inside that might one day come out. Eddard hoped he would be able to find a way to help the perpetually unspeaking half of the only thing he had left of his willful sister.

The child still refused to speak. Maester Luwin couldn't find anything in his books to help. Ned considered having him inquire of the Citadel or sending letters to healers in Essos. However, Luwin convinced him, likely at the behests of his wife that such things were beyond mortal knowledge. Neither could Howland Reed solve the problem. His oldest surviving friend told him to trust in the Old Gods and have patience. Ned held a strong belief in the gods of his ancestors, but if they were testing him on his patience it was one he was close to failing.

It had taken him almost two years to talk himself back into his wife's bed. The amount of time he spent 'fussing over his bastard' was not helping. Well at least she was pregnant now, which would go a ways toward keeping her mind on something else. Soon another child would place demands on his time and while Ned would never give up on Rickard; Ned realized that if he wanted to keep peace in his home compromises would have to be made.

287

Things were going well for his rapidly expanding family. He now had a pretty red headed daughter named Sansa. His brother had even come for a visit, though it wasn't all pleasant. Benjen, who he hadn't seen since their sister's death, smacked him across the back of the head for how he'd handled his wife earlier. Of course he had returned the blow and chastened him for running off to the Nights Watch instead of staying in Winterfell and confronting his grief. They then got into a fight, but afterward things felt better between them. There was still distance between them, filled with regrets and self recriminations, but it no longer felt like a festering wound.

Ned did take the time to consider his actions and thoughts carefully, just as Lord Arryn and his own sire had taught him. 'An unexamined life is not worth living' was a frequent saying that could paraphrase their world views. In hindsight he could easily have said he met the twin's mother and conceived them before he and Cat were engaged.

However Ned realized his wife was still unduly rough on the twins. She never did them any physical damage, but she took every chance she could to make sly, insulting comments at their expense. The wolf lord could clearly see that she was attempting to turn himself and their 'true born' children against the twins. To an extent he could understand her position. Any woman would be rather upset about having a husband who couldn't go without sating his need for flesh for a few months after just impregnating her. Yet she was becoming cruel. Ned had forced the truth from the boys' servants and the things his wife had said were most certainly not acceptable.

There was also the issue of her over fondness of wine during the time of their estrangement. While she stopped soon after the worst of their arguments were over and the behavior never reached the level of drunkenness it was troubling. Cat was not the woman he loved then and more than a bit of that could be traced to the fruit of the vine. It was not a trait he could afford to allow within his household. Rumors of his old friend Robert's behavior showed him the results of such a path. No, Ned would have a talk with Cat tonight and put an end to things while their problems were still small enough to manage. Yes, Eddard Stark could learn from the past.

He walked to the solar and retrieved exactly what he needed. Then he went to pray at the godswood, for he would need every scrap of wisdom to resolve this problem.

Later that evening

  
She was wearing her cream colored furs and siting in her solar, a copy of Theodore's Life of four High Septons was in her lap. She smiled when she saw him enter.

"Good day my love.." she began. Then she saw the stern attitude on his face.

"Is something the matter?" Cat Stark asked with growing apprehension.

"Yes, some things are very much the matter. I believe I have been very lax in allowing things to get to this point. I believe we must finally resolve the issue with the twins." Then she said what he feared.

"So you finally see the light Ned? You'll send them to foster, or even better to the... citadel." The words wall had been on her tongue he knew, but at least Cat had the decency or good sense not to mention it again.

"No Cat. I can apologize forever but no amount of regret would change things would it?" She looked at him without anger, only sorrow and unhappiness.

"I know what you want but don't ask it of me. You don't know how much it hurts, how much shame looking at them brings to me." She didn't cry or continue on that track. However, her feelings were laid open and she hid nothing.

"Your ways don't work south of the Neck. Bastards are always a threat awaiting an excuse. They are only two lives away from Winterfell."

"Cat, listen to yourself. Even if what you say is remotely possible how exactly is Jon going to gain the support of the Northern lords? No one would marry their daughters to him. And Rickard? Does he have the ability to plot rebellion? Can he even spell the word?" Ned looked at her square in the eyes.

He spoke in a clear tone that expressed disbelief in his wife's world view."You are chasing ghosts and inventing them when they can't be found."

"What if you're wrong? There are rumors of Balon Greyjoy agitating on the Islands, The Dornish are always grumbling about their lost princess and the Dragons keep a flame lit in the East. One spark and you'll be off to 'do you duty'. One slip of an Axe and I'll be here with only Robb and Sansa and those two in the shadows" she said, he lips trembling. 

"I know your histories. Rebellions are not about logic, not always. Sometimes there is only greed, naked greed and envy. The Greystarks were trueborn and they had to be extinguished root and stem. They rebelled, joined forces with your household's blood enemies to murder the kin who gave them a castle near the best port in the North. The Manderlies took that castle and within two generations became fabulously wealthy. Couldn't your ancient kin have done the same? Tell me what logical reason did they have to march hand in hand with men who skinned their own ancestors and wore them as cloaks? Could they even trust them afterwards? Could there have been any other outcome but more civil war had they succeeded?" Then Lady Stark moved in for the kill.

"Even your own father played at rebel. Oh I understand why he did it and he had good reason. The mad king's enormities were only getting worse as the years went by. Your sister's kidnapping was the excuse not the cause."

"I know you don't want to hear it; but is it possible they weren't going to put Rheagar on the throne before he followed in his father's insanity? Discontent with Targaryen rule has long been a strong sentiment with certain houses. Our fathers began whispering with Arryn long before the tourney at Harrenhal. That was Rhaegar's plan and he may or may not have known what our father's intended. I won't ask him, you can't ask your father and Lord Arryn despite your love wouldn't admit to it."

"It would break your heart wouldn't it? To find out that he placed politics and the safety of his family and friends above doing the 'right' thing, the 'honorable' thing?" When Ned didn't respond she stared at him.

"Not everyone is as honorable as you! Honor isn't even always the most important thing!"

Ned looked at his wife, at the shame and naked fear in her eyes and he made a choice. For good or evil this had to end.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a leather pouch and prayed he wasn't making another terrible error.  



	13. Catlyn I

What's lies within

 **Catelyn Stark**  
Winterfell  
End of 287

  
"A bargain is a bargain," she told herself repeatedly as one foot was placed in front of the other.

Cat strode almost regally into little Rickard Snow’s room and as she had done many times before she dismissed the maid at the door. Undoubtedly, she or another would be observing her to report any misbehavior on her part to her lord husband. How could she have ever placed the idea of ‘northern barbarian’ in the same sentence as her husband? Eddard Stark was smarter than he seemed, much smarter and fiendishly clever indeed.

The small child was still unable to talk, but at least he had stopped soiling himself and could more oft than not be trusted to use the chamber pot he was provided with. At the very least he could indicate when he needed to relieve himself.

His near black grey eyes were a mystery that Cat could never unravel. Unlike his solemn twin, Rickard’s only path of expression were his facial ticks and vacant, yet knowing eyes. Sometimes Cat could swear he was judging her very soul. Anger, sadness even pity were feelings she often saw reflected in those pale pools. Whether it was the child communicating in his strange way or simply her projecting her own feelings; the Tully woman could not and honestly did not want to know.

She watched from the door as Old Nan, the head nursemaid picked the child up gently and walked to a padded rocking chair. Cat herself sat in another more ornate seat, placed there for her convenience while the older woman covered the two of them with a blanket. Beneath them trio Stark’s other three children played a game of knights with each other. By the children she meant her Robb and the basts.. Jon. Sansa was sitting in a corner by herself quietly playing with a doll.

Across from lady Stark there was a slight rustling of cloth. Catelyn's attention shifted as the all too wise crone pulled the five year old to a more comfortable position and he was compliant. For some reason the ‘slow one’ was becoming more responsive than he had been earlier. Eddard chalked it up to love and attention. Cat had thought it was simply that bastards knew how to gain sympathy the same way brown beggars did. Though she wisely did not share her unwanted truths out load. The former Tully had promised not to call the two bastard children what they were to either of their faces or keep her children from spending time with them. She had also agreed to leave the fruit of the vine to itself save during feasts or religious services. Until Ned had opened himself and his own concerns she didn’t really know just how much he cared for his family and for her.

The wolf lord had made her realize just how far he was willing to go for what he considered his pack. It had shocked Cat to her soul just as easily as the wind out of White Harbor in the fall did even when she was clad head to heel in thick fur. However, Ned's intensity in outpouring his anger at her dereliction in safeguarding her well being sparked a new depth of love for the man who was her husband. When Eddard spoke of the children, his natural sons, she listened and while she didn’t agree with all he said Cat was forced to agree he was not entirely wrong. So she had did her duty and swore the oath as he swore his own. The contents of that pouch, his tales and the knowledge her husband was truly unknowable were both a balm for her worries and a source of primal fear. Catelyn Stark would never underestimate the man again, nor would she provoke him without cause.

In a smooth voice Old Nan spoke to the child. Cat found her attention divided between her duty and the compelling performance of the old woman. She usually told the child stories so he wouldn’t be bored while the other children played more active games. While they did try to include Rickard and he had…improved there were still many things he couldn’t do with them.

“Long ago before the North was part of the 7 kingdoms there was a place were peace and good will among men prevailed. And in that land there was a humble village in which dwelled many hard working but poor people.” The grey eyed child sat quietly and passed her a quick look before staring aptly at the storyteller. It was uncanny how he seemed to go from vacant expression to staring into one’s soul.

Nan guffawed. “I said a make believe land. Good will and peace among men are only found there.” The child actually smiled as though he understood her joke.

“None the less, the village was one blessed with a great many children who loved to sing and play to with each other in harmony."

"That simple village was also home to a beggar. He was pitifully lame and could not work. Every so often he would come through town with his rags and cry out for alms. The townspeople though being poor, were pious and kind. Can you guess what they did?” The child lifted his head to the right, it was something Rickard did every so often that caused his caregivers to gossip.

“Yes, they would give him food, spare clothes and sometimes rags to wrap around his smelly, sore covered feet. They did this because it was right, even though none of the villagers had a great amount to spare. They also liked the fact the beggar would entertain the children in the fields with stories of far away places. For the beggar was jolly despite his lot in life and loved the company of young people. Since he would never have a family of his own he treated any he came across as he would his own sons and daughters."

"Well this situation carried on for many a year. The beggar became a constant in the lives the villagers and his presence brought joy to the lives of everyone. Well, almost everyone.” Cat had a feeling the story teller was talking more to herself than her charge and she could swear Nan was looking her dead in the eye. The old woman was damn near blind, so she could never be certain.

“Yes there was a woman, the wife of the town baker and mother of three lovely little daughters, and she was appalled by the beggar’s presence.” Cat decided to tune her out and not weigh her words for insult. Seeing everything around her in terms of her issues was the path to madness after all.

Outside her daughter played by herself. The red haired girl seemed lonely and she glanced at the stick fighting boys every so often. Cat didn’t think either of the boys noticed and she resolved to get Ned to send off for station appropriate playmates.

“How dare that filthy man spend so much time with the village children, her children. She thought and more than once said. Didn’t they realize he might influence them to leave the village with his tales of adventure?"

"Times were hard and if too many strong backs or skilled hands left looking for adventure or lives elsewhere the older generation would likely starve. By wasting their precious food on that hunchback they were teaching their children that begging was acceptable. They shouldn’t be surprised if they all soon emulated the man in filthy clothes."

"Why work when he was living proof that the kindness of others would provide for one’s needs. One beggar could be supported by the small group of holdfasts, camps and towns he passed through yes. But when he inspired others then it would definitely cause a food shortage. And as all wise men and women knew ‘winter is always coming’ for poor and rich homes alike.”

Catelyn took a break from the story to observe the children again. The boys were no longer under the window, but their minders were also gone. Catelyn wasn’t worried about them, well her son at least. What did worry here was little Sansa, whose face seemed almost on the verge of tears. Memories of her own brother Edmund forgetting about her and Lysa once he reached an age to play with swords ‘of various types’ resonated within.

At least Rob could have hugged the girl or jostled a doll or two. The former Tully woman felt both disappointment and irritation, which Rob would later feel the brunt of. Thoughts of suitable punishments floated within her crafty mind, only for Nan's story to pull Ca back into its drama.

“But her husband and the others always waved away her concerns. She was letting fear rule her they said. No one sane would chose to beg when they had a skill. What woman could chose such a man as couldn’t stay in one place and provide a home? Even the other wives made fun of her. So she watched and waited looking for some evidence to prove her fears justified."

"And lo and behold she could find no wrong with the beggar man. He as was kind and virtous an example of his ilk as could be found. The children reported no lustful looks, ribald jests or untoward advances. She kept her vigil for years. Until at long last the poor baker’s wife began to doubt herself. Perhaps it was the sins hidden in her own nature she had placed upon the humble beggar."

"That is until she overhead the talk of her loveliest daughter. The one who was promised to the blacksmith's son in some old pact of her grandparent’s day. The small child swooned as girls not yet flowered were wont. But the object of her affection was that filthy beggar! She thought him kind and wise and the promised young man vain and stupid. The wife knew then what she must do. For no man was as much a saint as to refuse the shapely woman she would grow into. It would ruin her and the baker family’s reputation. No daughter of hers would live a tramp’s life. The beggar must be dealt with she swore to herself and the gods.” Cat at this point was paying rapt attention to the old ladies swelling voice and theatrics. The boys face wasn’t more animated than before but he seemed to be as enraptured as herself.

However Cat's attention was broken by the sound of Sansa’s laughter. As she watched Rob and Jon sat beside Sansa with little soldier dolls. Rob kissed her rosy cheeks and Jon placed a blue rose in her hair. A few moments later they tickled the girl until she squealed with delight. Cat remembered Peter. He never seemed to forget her name day or ignore her discomfort. She could also never forget the sight of his bloody chest. To her knowledge the three below her were just as close and Lysa, Peter and herself had been. Ned had warned her sternly to do nothing to prevent that relationship. At that memory's rise she sniffed. As though Tully, would forsake a given oath!

“So sure of the righteousness of her cause the wife did bake a pie. A very special and extra delicious sparrow pie. The type that made her husband’s shop famous. To this pie she added a special ingredient, one that would make the eater fall asleep two days later and not awaken again. It were usually given to those dying o pain, such that they could find a peaceful way to the gods while having the time to say good bye and settle accounts."

"The wife believed it would remove suspicion from her when the beggar died in some other village or on the road. As he never spent more than one day in any given place non one would be able to solve the mystery, if they even suspected foul deeds.” Smiling her toothless grin Old Nan winked knowingly at the boy, though Cat suspected it was aimed at her.

“An old almost lame hunchback living on his own certainly didn’t have long to live anyway. Telling herself she was practically doing him a favor by ending his suffering; she gave the trusting man false alms. She went to bed thinking her problem solved. She awoke in the morning thinking and counted the days till she would no longer have to pretend stand the sight of the man.”

Catelyn hadn’t heard the story before, but she could guess how it ended. Nan was pretty good at story telling she had to admit. A part of her wondered if Ned had put her up to this specific tale. The man had proven himself damn crafty. Nan’s stories for some reason appealed to her and could be compared to her own life.

“Oh little one she did rid herself o that beggar, but not in the manner she wished. For said beggar was kind and when he gone not a half a league from her home he was beset upon by the town’s children. As usual a story he gave them per their demand, but when they saw the tasty pie each begged a slice. Being fair minded he divided it up among them evenly, only saving himself a single slice. However, before he could taste the housewife’s foul fare the woman's fairest daughter arrived. Denied her story by her tardiness the beggar man gave her his slice of pie to keep her from crying.” Even knowing what was coming Nan’s delivery made her take note.

“And two days later the village lost its joy and good will was replaced by rancor, accusations and blame. For no one could know who or what was responsible for so many youth to never awake. In the end they chose to blame the gods falsely as men are wont to do when justice can’t be meted out for human deeds. Of course that did not heal the rifts between them as the town slowly faded away with each person who left to find communities they felt safe in. In two year time the village was only populated by the beast of the fields and sky."

"Those who were young enough had more children but such was not the fate of the baker’s wife. For she died of grief a week later. The beggar who grieved almost as much as the parents could never stand to walk upon that route again. As he traveled to a different village he stumbled upon a bandit’s stash of jewels and gold. With those funds he started an orphanage and spent the remaining years of his life surrounded by the family he always wanted.” Cat gasped without realizing it.

Rickard turned and looked at her, giving her a sad smile of a kind she hadn’t seen before he walked up to her and hugged her left leg. In her shock Catllyn did not notice there were tears in her eyes. She looked down at her husband's shame and suppressed a frown. She did not want a bastard’s pity. But before she could express that opinion and thus test her husband’s forbearance again Old Nan intervened. More spry that she had appeared earlier, she took the boy by the hand and walked towards the door.

“Forgive the little one m’lady he meant no harm..” Cat cut her off with a raised hand. She was both angry and ashamed at the same time. Mastering herself, she found she was actually curious about the story.

“No matter Nan. What was the moral of the story; if it had one?”

Nan smiled as she heard the other children running up the stairs. That was the thing that bothered her the most about Old Nan. Her smiles and gestures held any number of meanings. Was she happy because the children were back and would give her break from entertaining the silent one? Or was she using her age, position and the situation to get a rise out her lords wife without fear of punishment?

“Whose to say m’lady Stark? I’m not one of the old gods or a queen to judge. Maybe the moral is simply not to do evil to innocent people because we think we know the future better than the gods. Perhaps it means that asking men to live without thinking of their own position, glory and wealth only leads to tragedy. It could be that that one should make extra sure to only kill the person one wants poisoned.” Nan laughed, it was a horrible laugh that chilled Cat's spine despite how soft it was.

“Or that we should understand that poison always hurts more than the person we intend to use it on. What we carry with us in our hearts is what shows in our words and actions Lady Stark. There’s really not much more to it that that.” She laughed again, this time it was lighter and a smile cracked her wrinkled grin as she picked the little boy up.

“But what do I know? I’m just an old woman. Now if’n the Lady Stark would excuse me. I must needs fill this one and the others with food. They probably want to play with him as well.” With that the not so old or ignorant woman took the child to the other children. She could have sworn the silent boy winked at her over Nan’s shoulder as the woman cut the corner.

That woman could speak better common than she usually chose to and it wouldn’t surprise her to learn Nan could read. She had been at Winterfell long enough and the Starks were unusually kind hearted enough for someone to teach her. Loyal, non offensive, just the right kind of person to ‘teach a lesson’ to a wife you wish to come around to your way of thinking without an argument.

She wanted to be upset about what she could swear was manipulation of her agreement. But all she could do was sit in the comfortable chair and wipe the tear that had managed to fall down her left cheek.

It wouldn’t do for her children or Ned’s to see Lady Stark cry because she saw her reflection in a child's fable and found the image wanting.


	14. Rickard V

The journey within

  
Rickard Snow  
The Godswood, In front of the largest Heartree  
Winterfell, The North  
288  
Just as the night was about to end 

  
I was bundled up in a what would be considered winter gear in New York or most non Alaskan parts of the United States. Then I was placed in a seated position in front of a face that seemed to be crying at me. Its eyes were flowing taps of sap that were collected and mixed with nut paste and fed to me, per the instructions of one Lord Howland Reed. As usually Catelyn was skeptical, as was Maester Luwin. But, as neither of them were named Lord Eddard Stark of Wintefell and Warden of the North their opinions meant all of jack and shit. My siblings and old Nan on the other hand were a great deal more supportive of this attempt. The hands of my gloves were open and I used them to touch the weirwood and waited for the first rays of light to cross the horizon.

As the dawn sky lit itself ablaze I felt my mind enter the same realm I experienced when drawing my first breath. As this event was largely for show I didn't actually expect to have another psychedelic, quasi-mystical experience, but heh it was Westeros and honestly it was part of my heritage anyway. The clouds of mist enveloped my view and I felt myself melt into the ether as I surrendered to a gentle pull. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but as I could sense no threat and Howland Reed said this was at most just speeding along the merging process I looked forward to it.

Within the minds eye

When I came to I was wearing an apron and my customized welding face mask. Even though I couldn't see it the black and white skull shape was like a second skin. In front of me was a earthen cup sitting inside the oven and in about three seconds the timer would go off letting me know my steel was ready to pour. In the background Queen's highlander was playing at an acceptable volume as I needed to be able to hear what I was doing. As anticipated the blinking lights and horn informed me to carefully pull the molten metal from the inferno and pour it into the mold, which I did almost without conscious thought.

While the metal, which would soon be part of a replica of the iconic blade swung by Duncan Macloed's archrival the Kurgan, cooled I proceeded to arrange my hammers and measuring tools. The two handed fantasy blade was technically a variant of a Scottish Claymore, a beast of a weapon that was still in use up until the final unification of Great Britain. I felt serenely happy at the memory as my strong limbs clenched the 49 inch blade in tongs once the primary shape took hold and prepared to get to work. My studio workshop was currently occupied by myself and my assistant, Lauren Sendricks and she was working on the fire and camera. The purchaser had requested I make the sword by hand using 'period' specific tools. Yes, that was basically joke for any number of reasons starting with the fact no sane smith even in the 14th century, would ever design a sword that fucking impractical. I mean snap together construction and spring loaded quillions that don't even connect to the tang? I shook my head as Lauren snickered at the joke without me having to say anything.

It wasn't my most challenging or fun piece but my time in my shop was a very relaxing and enjoyable period of my life. Ms. Sendrick would later go on to own her own movie prop business and would send work and goodies my way for a long time. I wondered why I was brought here and what lesson the 'old gods' wanted to impart to me when Lauren vanished and a crow took her place sitting on top of my camera. I almost, almost missed my next strike but I quickly returned to my flow. I expected to see Howland, but there was no way in hell I was going to let Bryden Rivers know he spooked me.

"Well this is certainly surprising." came from nowhere, but I quickly realized that none of this had to follow any 'rules' of physics. I looked at the three eyed bird as it pretended to clean itself the way ravens are wont. I calmed myself and remembered I had a few plans for dealing with said sorcerous, rogue Targaryen brother of the Nights Watch. My voice took a respectful but firm tone.

"Good day to you sir, I take it. I am currently in the middle of one of my favorite memories and I won't have much time for such once I awaken.." The bird laughed and replied. This time he allowed his 'voice' to emanated from where his beak was, even though mouth did not open.

"Good day to you as well my courteous friend. Don't let me stop you from continuing. I was merely curious as to your presence in this realm and thought I would drop by to chat. However ,if you are busy I can always wait for you to finish. Courtesy between our kind is important after all and I am in no great hurry." It didn't pay to be rude to someone who could literally murder you with a murder of crows so I played it extra cool. Yet I could play at ruffling feathers as well.

"No good greenseer you are not intruding. I figured we would have to talk eventually and this way we can get on the same page earlier. You are welcome to stay provided you keep that box pointed at me. It is an important part of the memory" The raven laughed again, his head dipped and the Samsung swiveled as though it was under its own power. If my use of his tittle surprised him at all he didn't act like it.

"If you don't mind my curiosity that is an interesting great sword you are making. What kind is it?" At this point my dream self had just quenched it and was in the process of assembling the tang and pop out quillions. Since I wasn't about to explain the modern world or any of the devices the Raven wouldn't understand I thought up a decent enough half truth.

"Basically someone wanted a fancy show sword and was willing to pay quite a lot for it. Its totally impractical for combat but it was based on a Claymore. The real thing was used to open ranks in pike walls and deal with mounted men without lances or pole arms by taking down horses." I brough out my engraving tools and started adding 'celtic' script to the blade and various other parts of the sword. As I began the dream time speed gilding process the crow flew from its cameraman job and landed in front of me.

"It does seem like a useful weapon and you are quite skilled." I put the finished item on a rack and bowed before the camera which once again was manned by my assistant who clapped. I felt the same sense of accomplishment I did the first time and for a moment I remembered what its was like to not be in a death world on the brink of a zombie apocalypse. I turned toward the curious crow and bowed my head once more while making a flourish with my left hand.

"Now that's done I thank you for waiting patiently. How might I be of assistance Lord Brynden Rivers? Or do you prefer Lord Bloodraven or the Three Eyed Raven?" That did shock the crow and his three eyes widened as he looked at me. In the background I played the song.

[MEDIA=youtube]4PEWydllfag[/MEDIA]

"For the record that is how you make most people feel when they meet you, but I'm certain I wasn't sent to this death world to make you feel uncomfortable. And before you think me hostile I just wanted to clear my bonafides before we got to our little talk so we can stop trying to pull dominance games. We have a world to save from the others, selfish nobles, insane zealots and old gods know what else." The jovial attitude of the crow ceased, replaced by cold calculus. For a moment I wondered if I had overplayed my hand and triggered his anger. Blood Raven wanted to recruit my not yet born brother and he needed the good will of the Starks in general to provide aid in the fight beyond the wall. Doing me in wouldn't help those goals. Not to mention I was likely a part of his Targaryen restoration bit. I never really believed in his 'above the fray' interpretation. A black cloak and a new job title didn't erase a man's past or his desires. Of course who really knew how ancient sorcerer nobles thought? So I tried another angle before I going for the stick.

"The song wasn't intended as an insult dear nuncle." That got the man/bird to speak again.

"How exactly are we related revenant?" So he thought I was a ghost possessing this body. Well that was better than 'pawn of the others', though if he thought I took over his nephew four times removed it was likely going to get ugly and quickly.

"For starters I wouldn't be so quick to call others practitioners of outlawed blood magic when blood sacrifice is a part of our religion and I suspect is part of what is keeping you alive. Not to mention our family history. I do recall more than one historian claimed Sierra Seastar was fond.." The birds voice thundered despite its small stature.

"Enough! Speak plainly or I will cease to be so accommodating." So I hit a nerve and found out the man was still carrying a torch. Though I was scared shitless I kept my cool and spoke in a smooth low tone.

"If you had glanced below the neck during the period of Roberts Rebellion you would have seen Rheagar interacting with Lyanna Stark. I don't know the specifics of their later conversation but she initially left with him willingly. She would die shortly after giving birth to his sons, myself and Jon, who was named Jahearys originally. Though to be fair Rheagar thought he was getting one girl child to be called Visenya. How his reading of the prophesy of the Prince who was promised came up with that outcome is beyond me.." The bird cut me off again.

"Rheagar was always too headstrong for his own good. His focus blindsided him and led everything to fall to ruin. Mayhaps Aemon should have taken the crown instead." Yep all his hard work, sacrifices and kin slaying undone and his legacy gone in an instant of hormone driven fanaticism. Of course I didn't say that.

"But that doesn't answer my question. I know who that body is but nothing you have said explains what I just saw. Those devices are beyond anything I have seen. What are you and why did you take my nephew's body?"

"Before you continue on with your claims that I am some kind of demon or sorcerer I want to make something very clear. I might not be from this plane but I didn't come here voluntarily and to the best of my knowledge there wasn't a soul inhabiting it. I just woke up in the womb of Lyanna Stark with about as much consent as my brother did. Believe me if I could have chosen to inhabit a body it would not be that of a bastard who would be killed just as soon as Robert found out about him." The crow considered my words and stared at me. I felt a force measuring my words if not my presence.

"That is an acceptable answer, for now. Barring that issue what are your plans Rickard or do you prefer Rheagar. " I shuddered at the name of that irresponsible idiot and smothered a curse.

"So we don't have any more hostility sir?" He was in fact my senior in magic and I had probably antagonized him enough for one day. The raven cocked his head in an unnatural motion.

"Too much is at stake to be limited by my personal views, though should we meet in person I will have a more in depth answer." It wasn't a question and I jumped at the olive branch. Howland and I had worked out a contingency for dealing with a hostile Blood Raven but I sure as hell didn't want to implement it as a child. There was a very high probability it would wind up as a posthumous revenge and that was unacceptable.

"Agreed. I mean to strike first against the Others and use them as spring board to secure the safety of myself, Jon and kin." The raven laughed at me. It was full of scorn, the kind your elders reserve for foolish children. My brow knitted but I let the old sorcerer finish.

"That is you great plan?! Why of course! We just convince the whoremonger king to march the royal army down the throat of the land of Always Winter. Why did I never think of that before? I'm sure you can convince the sot of a usurper to lead the charge. Let us say you can do that without getting your head put on a spike for being dragon spawn. What would that do beside give me the pleasure of watching the glutton die?" I contained my temper and remembered I was talking to a frustrated man who likely hadn't spoken this much to another living human in at least a decade. I pinched my nose and shook my head before retorting.

"I meant we would arm ourselves with the appropriate weapons and tactics; powdered dragon glass arms and armor, repeating crossbow and Valyrian steel first. I assume that the enemy is comprised of mostly unarmored free folk, medium sized animals and spiders the size of small ponies. They can cause localized storms if they are enough of them in one place and they are willing to expend the effort. Further I assume they have some form of logistical constraint in the use of their magic otherwise they would just freeze everything above the wall and claim between 200 and 400 thousand lives instantly. They are not unbeatable and don't see a reason to let them gain momentum." Toward the end I may have snarled a bit. The old man in crow form stopped and thought about it.

"Powdered obsidian?"

"Crushed and attached to weapons, armor and shields with glue. Since the others are the main threat their magic weapons would be worthless in melee even if they turn the winds to reduce our arrow's range. Maybe find a way to mix it into something you can mold into a weapons; if we can't use alchemy to bond it into metal that is. It kills Others and walkers on skin contact right? Gambesons are cheaper than metal and its easier to glue the powder into the threads. Not to mention anyone that got killed would likely have their armor sticking into their flesh anyway, so they wont turn."

"You put a great deal of thought into this didn't you? Though how are you going to afford enough dragon glass to do all of that."

"Six fucking years worth of it, beggin my lord's pardon. As to affording it all lets say I have some plans to bring more money to the north and I don't plan on needing more than that in the beginning. It might even be possible to end the war in under three years. Though I need to confirm their weaknesses before I can make serious plans to build the army required to deal with the threats. " My sarcasm dripped from my mouth.

"What do you need to know?" He chose to ignore the insult having seen something of value in my suggestions.

"Can the people and animals risen be killed by dragon glass? How much muscle mass do they need to move and how do they see? Do they need eyes and ears? And how do we kill the spiders?.." The raven then flew and landed on my right shoulder before I could continue. It whispered in my ear.

"You have a lot more questions, but alas I don't really have the time to answer them all right now. I'll say yes to the first and we'll get to the others later. However there is something I will deal with now rather than later." The ground beneath me vanished and I was suddenly falling from a great height. It was all I could do not to holler out in fear.

"If you think for one minute I'm going to volunteer to be stuck inside a fucking tree..." The bird dodged my attempt to throttle him with contemptuous ease, before pecking me in the center of my forehead. I could 'see' blood pouring down into my face.

"I never said you would. But you'll fly all the same Revanant or you're of no use to me or the world." The ground came rushing in at me and with every iota of my being I willed myself to not smash into the ground. I didn't know if I'd die or merely be stuck a vegetable, but neither was a good outcome. Slowly my rate of fall began to slow until I knew I was in no danger of harm. Don't ask me how I knew but when my feet touched the ground it was the equivalent of a child jumping down from the monkey bars. I glared up at the cackling bird with a look of barely contained rage. There was no blood on my face any longer and the bird seemed....unsatisfied.

"Well that didn't go as planned, but you'll do for now. When the moon turns again come to the god'swood and eat of the same paste. I'll answer some of your questions then and you can tell me more of this plan of yours." That for now part led me to realize I needed to protect Bran especially well in addition to mastering warging. I suddenly felt wet and realized I was waist deep in snow. Since he left me alone here and implied we would meet again he must believe I could exit this space myself. Thus I focused on ending the illusion the same way I stopped myself from smashing my head open.

The godswood

  
I woke up to the sight of a pristine northern morning. The second thing I noticed after my family's concerned looks was I was sticky and wet. At first I thought it was simply the sweat on my brow but my hand confirmed I had in fact wet my pants. I also noticed the flock of ravens that were above me watching me intently in silence. The words came out of my lips without thinking.

"You fucking dirty bastard!"

I turned around to see the agape mouths of my family.

"I mean I love you all very much."


	15. Rickard VI

Did I do that?

  
 **(SI) Rickard Snow**  
Winterfell  
The Godswood in front of the largest Heartree  
288  
Morning of Awakening

'Damn'; I thought to myself as the seconds dragged on into what seemed like hours. Almost six years of preparation and I let that tree humping fucker ruin my presentation with a cheap shot. I really didn't need anyone questioning my vocabulary right now. Looking at the shocked expression on Eddard Stark's face I realized that I might have a bit more explaining to do than I cared for. My mind raced for the right thing to say, as originally I meant my first words to be something along the line of 'praise the old gods' or some such tripe.

Fortunately, I was saved from further self incrimination by a damn near flying tackle from my twin.

"You can talk now!" I immediately got a whiff of his bo, but I chose to feel grateful for the distraction. If Jon did not seem to mind my piss smelling self then who was I to refuse his affections. Robb and even Sansa joined in wrapping their tiny arms around me. I reciprocated as they bathed me with their joyful tears and high pitched lisping shouts.

After a few minutes of sibling bonding Old Nan waded in and separated me from the wolf pile up. Oddly enough I didn't mind their presence as I actually felt like there were my own 'real' siblings. Sasha and Mathias were a million miles and many years away from me, but that feeling of connection you can only get from people who have shared your home for years was present. Old Nan took a whiff of me and spoke tersely.

"My lord, my lady. This one needs changing into something dry afore he freezes solid. We can come back and praise the old gods for this miracle later, as me thinks they aren't going nowhere anytime soon." My father's shocked face was replaced with mirth as he snickered.

"I dare say you have more sense than anyone here Nan." He stretched out his hand to receive me and I found myself wrapped in his powerful arms and face to face with grey eyes matching my own. He stared at me and smiled.

"So Howland has come through for me once again. I should never have doubted the man." He pulled me into his chest and wrapped me within his cloak to prevent heat loss from my now drenched undergarments. I felt like I should say something, anything to help cement my religious authority for the future, but I was suddenly very tired. That and lord Stark's arms made me feel so warm and loved it was hard to focus on anything except my satisfaction at having my childish desire for safety met. In fact it was hard to keep my eyes open.

"We will come back here to offer a sacrifice to thank the gods for this miracle!" He led the family back towards the castle, but the fucking bastard wasn't done with us yet.

"Sacrifice, Thank, Gods, Snow!" The crows barked in staccato as they took wing and flew in a circle around the tree several times before flying in a straight line in the direction of what I suspected was the wall. I did not see Eddard's face but his gait changed. The last thing though I had before succumbing to my age was 'You won't be forcing me to go there either you fucker!'.

  
One day later

  
I spent most of the rest of the day sleeping as I was quite tired from my ordeal and Measter Luwin has insisted I not be disturbed while he figured out exactly what happened. I took that time to piece together exactly what I wanted to get across to everyone. I needed father to not freak out and mitigate Blood Raven's stunt while turning it to my advantage. Then I needed to do something about the lack of clean drinking water because there was no way in hell I wanted to see any of my kin die from a fever. To the best of my knowledge Jon Snow never got sick enough to warren Maester Lewin's death watch. So assuming plot armor was just stupid. Not to mention I needed to do all of that without breaking suspension of disbelief. It was possible to play off being smarter than the average toddler but I did not need to spark Catelyn's paranoia. She already was giving me looks that implied I understood her every word years ago.

When I actually went to the chamber pot myself without having to be guided by my wet nurse Lewin decided I was well enough to be 'questioned'. I remembered what the Valyrian link meant when he called me to stand before him and inwardly cursed.

"Well young Rickard I assume you can understand me?" I nodded quickly.

"Please speak, I know you can do so, but do remember I will punish you if you use bad language." I almost did curse again over my knee jerk reaction. As a bastard I needed to project a proper respectful and beyond reproach attitude. Anything else could and would be a death sentence for my political and economic aspirations.

"Yes Maester Lewin." I pronounced his name and title without the lisp common to those of my age. I originally had planned to keep one and loose it over a few months. However, it was very unlikely he would forget I didn't have one and spoke in complete sentences. I wanted to be thought smart, but not frightening or deceptive. If I tried to bullshit this old man I would only make another enemy.

"Amazing! You went from mute to this. Not even a lisp. Please tell me everything you can remember. Spare me no detail." Well fuck, the old man was not playing. I considered going the whole messenger of old gods route, but I did not want him to know exactly how smart I really was.

"I don't know." I grabbed my head in frustration as though I had a head ache. This caused the excitement in the man to damper and he gently picked me up and placed me on a padded bench near him.

"Sorry Rickard. I let my passion get the better of me. Here drink this." I trusted him not to poison me and if I wanted his trust I would have to give some first. Of course the nettle tea tasted like ass but I pretended not to mind it. I only hoped the man would calm the fuck down with 20 questions routine. A bit more sympathy and I could bend him around my finger so in the future I could bypass Cat o nine tails tongue. The less I had to deal with her the better.

"Ha, I usually have to sing to Sansa and make faces at Robb for them to drink it." Shit I did it again, children were unreasonable for little to no reason.

"Yucky! I don't like it." came from my mouth and I made the duck face. Hopefully that slight tantrum would satisfy him somewhat. I assume it was some kind of anti inflammatory similar to aspirin, because a few minutes later I felt a lot less stressed out.

"But its still good for you and you trust me enough to drink it right away, don't you?" Luwin smiled wryly while looking me in my eyes. I said yes while nodding but I really didn't need to do anything because he wasn't looking for an obvious answer.

"Good, because I am here to serve the Starks and keep you all safe and healthy. Do you see this?" The maester pulled out his Valyrian steel link and let me touch it when I stretched out my hand. I don't know why I did that, save it must be part of my toddler reflexes. Just like how the raven pushed my buttons earlier. I would have to be more aware of my feelings to make sure I didn't walk into obvious traps. My age and body had far more influence on my decisions than I cared for.

"This is a Valyrian steel link. I means I study the mysteries of magic. While most of what I learned was about the Dragons I did read a bit about the north. Though I never thought I would see what happened yesterday!" Well that whole bit with Bloodraven was a shock for me too. I figured his lazy ass would leave me alone long enough for me to build up my own powerbase. But, I supposed I could adapt to his presence.

"What's magic?" That would be the obvious question and it would let me know how to deal with him. The smiling greybeard nodded and stroked his aforementioned, well kept, chest level beard for a few minutes before answering.

"Magic is science we don't understand. Some of it is very dark and I won't go into it with you. However, I believe there are higher mysteries that could help people be wiser and live better lives. Magic like any other knowledge is as good or bad as the man or boy who uses it. Do you understand?" I blinked in surprise at his getting right to the point, but I got the idea that we were on the same page.

"You mean I'm magic Maester?" When in doubt throw a question back at sender. It puts the onus on them to clarify things. Luwin laughed again, and a half smiled formed on his face though his left eye was slightly hooded as though we were now a two man conspiracy.

"I had and old teacher who told me to never answer a question with another question. Another one told me only a fool asked a question he already knew the answer too and only a bigger one would answer it." The maester looked at me to see if I would take the click bait. When I declined and looked at him with my dullards' eyes he folded.

"Can you tell me what you saw when you travelled into the tree?" I considered asking him what he meant, but if he explained and I understood it would make me look smarter. And I really didn't want to jerk him around after he left me an out. So I put my hand on my head for a few minutes while I considered the best half truth. My dullard look made for a good poker face, but I didn't want to relay too heavily on it.

"I had dreams. I saw people and places. There was a man with a crown like a wolf's claws. He was with a man who had no skin and they had a bunch of men. They had a fight outside our castle and tried to get it. But the man who looked liked father took out his sword and beat them." Lewin nodded along with my explanation of the Greystark Rebellion.

"And that's why you were sweating and shaking weren't you?" I nodded.

"I daresay you saw the Greystark Rebellion. Is that why you cried out 'Bloody Bastard'?" Phew, he made the connection. I mean if this were 10 years later I would have blown up Ramsey Snow's spot with the quickness. But alas, he was only a toddler and I wasn't exposing myself just to get rid of him this early.

"Uh huh," came from my lips with a child's small voice. I decided to throw a few kiddie lingos in here and there to make myself sound more authentic.

"Of course that leaves the question where you learned the word bastard. Did the Lady Stark explain it to you?" His eyes scanned me for what I knew was deception. I met his gaze without flinching before shaking my head. Oh she had used the word bastard in my presence more than once, especially when she was in her cups, but the whole point of my actions were to de-escalate our conflict. Ideally we could find a path of mutual toleration, if not respect. I won't lie the look on her face when Lord Stark's gaze implied she had been rude to me because she felt she could get away with it was priceless. Being falsely accused of something that she couldn't explain away must have been a new feeling for her. Of course throwing her under the bus wouldn't help matters at all.

"I was heard Jory talk about Lord Hornwood. He said his son was natural. Then Harwin said just call the bastard what the fuck he was." All of which was in fact true. People said all kinds of shit around me because they figured I wouldn't understand it or repeat it. I would miss that kind of honesty, but I needed respect a great deal more and I need Lewin on my side. The maester laughed yet again.

"Perhaps it was time Jory and Harwin found increased duties if they believed such talk is meet to be heard by their lord's sons." I hated to do that to men I reasonably liked, but I needed to build bridges with Cat and Lewin a great deal more than with them. At least for now and perhaps they would learn to better mind their tongues. It would keep them alive if they had to go south of the neck. He nodded at me having seemingly got a rough idea of what my journey entailed.

"I think that is enough for now. I might ask you to describe more of these dreams later. If any of them disturb you feel free to seek me out I will always listen." The lure of studying magic, real magic was a pull to him. Perhaps I might use it to gain more access to books and reading material? Yes having a hook would definitely help me advance as I was functionally illiterate. Sure I could read English, but that wasn't the same as Westerosi and my hands were not accustomed to writing in any language. Before the surprisingly spry old man dismissed me to my normal activities he held my gaze.

"Do you feel up to taking lessons with your brothers and sisters? I am teaching them how to read, write and do figures."

"Yes maester. I want to learn."

"Then we will start tomorrow. I believe your brothers and sister want to talk to you and I feel you are well enough" As much as I wanted to try reading I found that playing with them was more important. It wasn't even a matter of me wanting to start improving my abilities or even helping them understand things. I really missed them. The hours they each spent trying to help pull me out of my shell made me feel especially fond of them.


	16. Eddard III

**Eddard Stark**  
288  
Winterfell  
The Godswood in front of the largest Heartree  
Almost four months later

Despite foreknowledge the lord of Winterfell was still incredulous as his young 'son' spoke the words in front of him and his wife. He had apologized profusely for his suspicion of her unkind treatment of the twins. It took her a few weeks to even speak cordially to him again, however her treatment of the boys; especially Rickard had improved. Her disdain for their presence didn't vanish, but she was far less hostile. No doubt it was in part because of Jon's kind nature and Rickard having pointed at the loose tongues of his guards as the inspiration for his foul outburst. Though a part of him suspected the boy just wanted her approval, which if he took after his twin implied he shared his forgiving nature. Alas it would take far more than that to earn a mother's love from such a proper southern lady. Ned truly felt remorse for the position life placed on them and the need to keep such an ugly secret.

Eddard was so overjoyed at the miracle that at first he didn't notice the amazing mental development of Rickard. The former mute spoke in complete sentences and with a clear and precise tone. It was Cat who pointed it out and the wolf lord noted a slight bit of fear in her voice, which was in part why he suspected her to begin with. When Lewin had brought up his own concerns Ned bowed to his greater knowledge and left the boy in his care for a day or so. Ned was relieved when it did not take him long to declare the boy was well enough to resume normal life. Though he was surprised to hear Lewin's recommendation that Rickard be allowed to complete the same ritual again on the nonce! In light of the miracle, Howland indicating more than one 'treatment' might be necessary and Rickard's good behavior Lord Stark allowed it. Of course Eddard had brought the boys and girl together and sternly expressed the need for proper decorum as nobles, but he let Rickard's improper reaction to the poor deeds of his ancestors go without punishment. Well they were not punished, Harwin and Jory would be cleaning stables for the next few weeks. The last thing he wanted was his children speaking like sailors and hedge knights after all!

"The old gods bless the loins of house Stark. May another true born son grace your union" came forth from the small boy. He did not wear any fancy raiment nor did he paint his face, for he said such rituals were about substance not form. Cat had been skeptical of participating in this ceremony and it was likely Luwin's arguments and Howland's presence that swayed her. Such reluctance went deeper than her fairly strong convictions toward the seven. Partly his wife was still mad at him. 

And that anger went deeper than the unspoken accusations. Cat seemed to have worked out some of the mental games Howland and he had played with her. At one point she had suggested that Rickard had played the idiot with purpose all these years. Her suspicion didn't end even after she was allowed to talk with the child herself in private. Whatever they said between them broke down some part of the wall keeping their family apart. He knew better than to ask either of them, if Ned could keep a kingdom shattering secret from each of then Lord Stark would allow them their own lesser mystery in turn. It was something Lord Reed had proposed and the master of the Neck had quite earned his lord's confidence.

The space before him was occupied by only his closest relatives and retainers. Such august body was comprised of his wife, children, Old Nan and Lord Howland himself. The man was welcome to bring his children along, but as they were too young to expose to travel and the elements it was a mere formality. After his tiny nephew spoke the slight lord of the neck placed wreathes of holly around both of their necks and placed a stone cup filled with a mixture of herbs and red weirwood paste in front of them.

"Drink and receive the fruit of the old gods." Not one to argue with miracles he went first, draining exactly half of the bitter brew before he offered the rune laden grey vessel to his wife. Measter Luwin had gone over the ingredients and believed that they would do no harm, though the Stark honestly believed he simply wanted to study the effects for himself. His wife took the cup more hesitantly but Cat's desire for more children overcame her reluctance. She even wrung a concession that he would go before her sept and pray a three hour vigil to invoke her god's favor as well. He did not believe the seven had much if any power in the north, but he would humor his wife as it was the least he could do for her. Not to mention every little bit helped.

The lord of the neck then placed their right hands on the weirwood and their left hands just above each other's waists. Making bare skin contact with exposed bellies or even exposing them was taboo in most of the south, save Dorne. It was a bit scandalous for Cat's southron tastes but Ned knew this was absolutely tame considering some of the rituals his people got up to in front of the heart trees. "The less said about the Skagosi the better," his inner voice rejoined. To complete the ceremony the boy placed both his hands on the tree, just below its smiling face and shouted.

"Let it be done! Let the legacy of Brandon the builder continue!" His strong voice, speaking the words Lord Howland had taught him didn't seem childlike at all. It was full of a wisdom and power. Ned felt slightly warm and it wasn't just the heat emanating from the vent beneath the godswood either. Ned was suddenly glad that he and his lady wife were seated as a warmth entered his lungs, belly and unmentionables. Just soon as it started it ended and the boy spoke one last sentence.

"Your time is next Tuesday." The small child's face was serene and powerful for a moment then it flexed into the blank stare Rick held before his awakening. Then he shook himself and the small child was 'normal' once again. It was the same pattern that occurred every time Rick communed with the old gods. And each time part of him was scared the boy would return to the walking mute Rickard had been since birth. Only Lord Howland's assurances caused him to ignore those doubts. That and some of the simple but profound wisdom he had brought back with him each time.

Unlike most of what the boy said coming out of his trance it was obviously clear what Rickard meant instantly. He and his wife should not lay together again until next Tuesday. The second piece of ancient wisdom Rickard stated 'Bad health grows like a root in filth' took damn near four weeks to understand. Lord Howland had interpreted that message and had Maester Lewin do an experiment when they left pieces of clear and white pottery uncovered while others were sealed. Some were smeared with fat and other things and some were not. Within days molds grew in the exposed dishes, some of them smelling quite bad. The black and green parts were obviously spreading corruption and were in fact alive!

Then he placed boiling strong wine or vinegar with a dropper in the center of said dishes and like magic the black or green rot vanished. It was clear whatever small things were being killed by the hot liquid. Maester Luwin always boiled strips of cloth to wrap around bandages and midwives boiled water, but seeing those invisible things grow suddenly made the lesson much clearer. Ned was not a maester but it was obvious ingesting something that made wounds turn mortal was at least responsible for some sicknesses. Sometimes Ned thought about the fact such small things were in his water and on him everyday. Suddenly the concept of boiling drinking water mixed with strong wine, washing his hands with water mixed with vinegar before eating and bathing more regularly made much more sense.

Eddard ordered a regimen of cleanliness for the castle without any arguments. There were certain herbs and minerals that had similar properties to strong wine and Maester Lewin and Lord Reed were busy sifting which ones were safe to ingest and which others were only good for washing. How many people had died because they ignored something so bloody obvious? How many of his kin had perished in the crib because some careless wet nurse had filthy hands? Well he would not loose family because of it and he made sure everyone around him knew the new standards. In fact a few kitchen staff were let go for careless slovenly ways in the following months.

Two months later

The boy was blessed and that was clear for everyone to see. Only the fact Jon was so average kept people from asking about who their mother had been too strongly. Fortunately, Rickard's tie to the old gods led said guesses away from Dorne and the south. A strong command hushed said mention of some wildling woods witch stealing his heart on his path down to join Robert. However Rickards simple but astonishing revelation was something he couldn't contain. Neither could he stifle the revelation of his wife's new pregnancy. Howland had spoken to him to allay his fears for the twins, but there was growing dread and excitement in his heart when he considered what the Old Gods had in store for his nephews.


	17. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel Free to comment.

**Jon Snow**  
290  
Winterfell  
Quarters of Jon and Rickard Snow

“Up lazy bones!” came the familiar cry of his mini father in ‘command’ voice. When the tired brown haired boy refused to obey the tyrant sharing his face and grey eyes, Jon received a fairly strong open handed slap to his rear end. It both sent a jolt of pain across the boy’s rump and a loud sound everyone in the castle likely heard. Of the two, it was the humiliation that sent Jon flying from his bed in frustrated rage. There was only one thought on the older Snow’s mind.

Without wiping the sleep and gunk from his eyes the older bastard twin sent a trio of punches toward his non-plussed twin. Two of his attacks were Rickard’s fancy armpit ‘chambered’ straight punches and the other a traditional left hook. Jon didn’t put enough force into them to actually hurt his brother, but Rick needed to learn when to let sleeping wolves lie.

Of course as what almost always happened, each of the younger twin’s attempts ended in futility. Ricky picked the straight punches off above the elbow with a one handed ‘windmill’ block and wrapped Jon's hook in a bind. Then it was Rickard’s turn and the butt head dealt Jon another ‘sharp lesson’.

In this case it was a hip check that sent Jon Snow ass first into the ground, after a brief flight in the air that is. Fortunately, despite his aggravation Jon had enough presence of mind to use that ‘ground slapping’ trick with his free hand. Otherwise he was sure that there would have been a bruise on his posterior. To add insult to injury his brother Rickard slapped him over the back of the head while holding Jon’s other arm captive in a not quite painful lock.

“Now what did you do wrong?” came from his brother’s lips in that know it all way Jon hated. The arm bar didn’t increase in pressure, but he knew Rickard might decided to do something else if he gave a ‘stupid’ answer.

“I got mad and didn’t think.” Yes, Jon knew he was going to lose before he started, but the literal bastard didn’t have a right to take him to task. Rickard even ordered Robb around in training and both of them were older than him damnit! Just because he had some Old Gods’ bullocks didn’t make Rickard the new lord O Winterfell or his boss.

Jon remembered when he and Robb had to wipe Rickard’s ass for him and it wasn’t even two year ago! Of course saying that to the big head now usually ended with the offender in a similar position. Only the adults could get away with that kind of teasing, well when they were sure father wouldn’t hear. Rickard used to be weaker than them because he didn’t have as much time outside. But the ‘blessed one’ started doing some strange exercises he called ‘cross training’. The next thing he knew Rickard was tossing them both around like they were as tiny as Bran or Arya.

A small smile crept onto Jon's face whenever he though about his newest sister and how the Old God’s forgot to tell their messenger she would be coming alongside ‘Bran returned’. Yes, the ‘blessed’ had done right by Lady Catelyn and the twins with his new ‘forceps’ idea, but no matter what others said Rickard wasn’t perfect. It was his brothers’ solemn job to remind the git of that. Though getting that through the blessed one’s head was rather difficult when it came to martial pursuits.

Even when Jon, Robb and Theon all attacked him at once they rarely won. And while Theon was oblivious as always; he and Robb had a sneaky feeling Rickard mostly let them win out of pity or a desire not to hurt them. Jon shook his head thinking about how the pudgy boy went from barely walking to walking tall in a matter of months. Father was impressed enough with the results that he took Rickard’s suggestions to Cassel. Now Winterfell’s guards were lifting ‘standardized’ lead weights attached to bars, and using different kinds of pully ‘machines’.

His cruel twin even had them doing ‘youth’ versions. No, they weren’t lifting those heavy weights because the Maester agreed that it wasn’t safe for them yet. Of course that didn’t spare the Stark boys and squid boy from the rest. Crossing overhead bars with one’s arms wasn’t exactly fun when you had to do it, nor was it easy. Not to mention the track and swimming laps could be torture. Though Jon did admit the ‘jump rope’ and punching bag were nice. Both let him release some stress when he was bored or angry. Best of all Jon could do so away from his shadow’s too often smug grin. The only idiot worse than his brother was the squid and Rickard even got on his nerves!

Rick cut off his internal musings by speaking in a slightly less annoying tone. “Never fight the way the enemy wants you too. And you need to watch that temper. I’m your brother and I won’t hurt you” said the man with his face as Rick increased the pressure slightly. It was not enough to truly hurt but it drove the point of Jon’s vulnerability home. A part of him realized his brother was right, but the twit didn’t need to be so.. so…

“Someone else won’t be so nice. I’m pretty busy so don’t make me waste time having to avenge you. Ok?” Then the ass let him go with a small shove and a rough mushing of Jon's hair. Hair that Jon deliberately had cut and styled in a bowl shape to better differentiate him from Rickard’s ‘faded’ mo-hawk. If anyone asked Jon it looked like a silly attempt of a wildling raider to mummer a Dothraki. But of course no one asked the ‘ordinary’ twin his opinion on fashion.

“Ass.” Jon said while rubbing his shoulder. That last move had been nice and Jon would make sure his brother taught it to him. The day he could pull it off against Rickard would make all this effort worth it.

“Ha. At least you didn’t yell before you attacked me this time,” Rickard said with a slight snicker. Then his brother offered him a hand up. One Jon took with good grace before wrapping his twin in hug. Then they spoke in unison quoting Rodrick Cassel, the late Master of Arms.

“The purpose of a surprise attack is to take the enemy off guard.” The two of them laughed another few seconds before beginning their warm up. Push ups, jack and twists and the dreaded pull up bar were on the menu. Before they went to the yard to meet the others they went through their secret twin handshake.

Rickard smiled at him and spoke again. “You know I only push you so hard because I love you right? And you did ask me to show you everything I knew.” Stifling any possible retort with ‘sound logic’ was another thing he hated about his twin. But the ass was right, as usual.

“Yes brother I know that. I love you as well.” And Jon meant it. It was just hard to accept being the less capable twin after basically raising his brother whenever father wasn’t around.

“Don’t be glum J-man. You are the same size and build as me. And you are as just as smart too. Once you master the system you’ll be just as good.” Jon ignored the weird pet name his brother slapped him with. He wanted to believe that and Ricks ‘logic’ said it was possible. But how did one compete with a brother holding the favor of the gods?

All he could do was his best and that meant suffering through the new training regimen like everyone else. Yes, sometimes it was unpleasant, and Jory Cassel was a bloody taskmaster, but each part made the Stark boys stronger. And that kind of strength was still necessary as Balon had proven.

The lunacy of Theon’s kin shook father up greatly. Even though their motto ‘Winter is Coming’ was something Lord Eddard kept dear to his heart, no one foresaw such a pointless war. Well, almost no one, but even father only paid Rickard’s predictions and plans passing attention. Now there was a great change in the Wolf of Winter’s lair. No longer would Lord Stark leave anything to fate. The Lord of Winterfell was determined that all of his children be prepared for any challenge the world could toss at them.


End file.
